


In-Sourcing

by mecomptane



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: (Part of it anyway), ATA Gene, Arts & Crafts of a SciFi Sort, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dr Simpson is named Gail in this, Episode Tag, Episode: s04e09 Miller's Crossing, Gen, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24558139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mecomptane/pseuds/mecomptane
Summary: Coda for 409: Miller's Crossing. John anticipates fall out from what happened with Wallace and DMT. He somehow manages to be proactive about it while trying his best to avoid it. (ATA-related antics ensue.)
Relationships: Evan Lorne & John Sheppard, Miko Kusanagi & John Sheppard & Simpson, Rodney McKay & Jeannie Miller, Ronon Dex & Teyla Emmagan & Rodney McKay & John Sheppard, Samantha "Sam" Carter & John Sheppard
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this... a long, long while ago, found part of it, and posted it to ffn in 2017. Then I found the rest of it about two weeks ago, and spent a bit of time to clean it up and make it almost presentable. Aside from that it's completely unbeta'd, There's a few headcanons floating around in here, too, but they're either obliquely explained and/or more of a supposition I've made about characters and how/why they do things.

Major General Landry wasn't going to be pleased with John's decision.  _ John _ wasn't exactly thrilled with himself either, but if it came down to choosing Team or something—some _ one _ —else, Team would always come first. He'd carried that resolution with him through Afghanistan and Antarctica and Atlantis, triply so in Atlantis, and he'd stand by it in the future. Jeannie wasn't technically  _ Team _ , per say, but she was Rodney's sister, and  _ Rodney _ was Team. Losing either of them wasn't a mission cost that John could live with. He made his decision, and Wallace made his. Still.

Landry was going to be pissed, and while it might take a few days the excrement would at some point hit the rotating blades. John had maybe worded certain things in certain ways in his AAR that sanitized the whole situation to the IOA's preferences (the entire Expedition were old hats at that by now, but AR-1 were the undisputed Masters of Creative Writing for Interfering Civilian Bureaucrats.) SGC wasn't exactly new to this either, though perhaps new to the Expedition's specific methods of making things sound less upsetting than they actually were, and so it was only a matter of time before Landry bothered to read between the lines enough to figure out what, exactly, had happened and call John up on the rug for it.

Technically it had been an Expedition problem, even if it had been in the Mountain's local area, so Landry couldn't do anything too severe, and nothing to compromise the safety of the Expedition as a whole. He hoped. Captains Raleigh, Alves and Erskine were really looking forward to that promised shipment of AT4s.

This left John with a very small window to help Rodney see Jeannie settled safe and sound back at home, arrange transport for Todd back to Pegasus, and get in a quick bit of personal shopping (Teyla would kill him if he came back without popcorn; Lorne would kill him if he didn't at least try to acquire some of the non-requisitionable but very necessary items on the list the Major had put together and creatively persuaded the entire command staff to memorize).

And, of course, to deal with one last issue that had gotten under his skin.

"Look, how can you actually trust this company now? There's going to be new management, new leadership, maybe even an entirely new board." Which might be a bit extreme, but would be an entirely appropriate response by Devlin Medical Technologies given what their previous president had managed to pull. At least if they wanted to stay employed by and in the favour of SGC.

Carter sighed, ignoring the sounds of Rodney and Jeannie further down the hallway, both abnormally quiet though for very different reasons.

She had come back as part of the group to return Todd to the City, armed with both weapons and hard copies of reports she wanted to hand deliver to the appropriate scientists on base. "That," she had admitted in an aside to John, "And to check in on Daniel."

"I hear he's a trouble magnet," John said, quirking a grin.

Carter smiled. "It's actually almost time for his Annual Wake, if you want to stay another couple days."

Thinking of Landry's imminent explosion, "I'm good, but, uh, can I talk to you about something?"

Carter had listened up to the point where John had broached the issue with DMT, then shut him down. "John, I get what you're saying, but it's not feasible to remove everyone's subques and replace them with new ones. Other ones. We don't even have a company on standby to make others. At least this way, we know that DMT has issues and can monitor them."

There were ways to get around monitors, John wanted to argue. He knew there was, had  _ seen _ and even helped figure out some of those ways, once upon a time when he had thought he could find a middle ground. Carter knew his past, though, one of the very few in the City, and she probably knew what he did. So was she just that confident in SGC's ability to keep tabs on DMT, or did she know something about the future of DMT that John didn't?

"Alright, I was just…."

Carter did slow in her hurried pacing to Rodney and Jeannie, turning to smile at him. "It's your job to worry about the safety and security of the Expedition, I get it. But it's my job too, and I think we'll be okay from here on out."

The subject was dropped as the siblings came into view, quietly conversing as Rodney leaned over to help support a still shaky Jean. Rodney was clearly anxious, Jeannie affectionately scolding. Carter was quick to join the conversation, but John hung back, still feeling ill at ease around his Team Geek. Rodney studiously ignored his presence, though Jeannie took a moment to aim a quick, confused smile his way, before returning her attention to her slow, stumbling pacing down the hallway.

Rodney had broken her legs to give the nanites something to fix instead of her epilepsy, and they had. But as with all injuries there was more to recovery than waiting for the tissues to mend, and while it wasn't standard physiotherapy, it was enough to start.

John had already called up to Vancouver to see if there was a physiotherapist that would see to Jeannie afterwards. One of the Canadians upstairs in NORAD had actually helped, finding one that was registered with CPTBC and was therefore covered—John wasn't sure how that worked, wasn't Canadian healthcare socialized? But at least that was something done and out of the way, and when Jeannie returned home the next day, everything else would be ready for her.

John nodded to her, waved at Carter (and Rodney's back), and turned around to head back to his temporary quarters to pack and grab his rarely used wallet. He hadn't brought much with him, but he wanted to be ready to go the moment the 'Gate was available. After his shopping trip.

Rodney would be staying back another week or so, mostly in Vancouver and sometimes at the Mountain, as would Carter while SGC took the chance to question Todd. Teyla, Lorne, Zelenka and Keller would be able to handle things if John stayed a bit longer, but being away from Atlantis was uncomfortable at best. The sooner he got back to Pegasus and away from Landry, the better.

Besides, with both Carter and McKay Earthside, it meant John would have largely uncontested control of the Expedition for the next couple days, and he had a project for Engineering, Ops/Tech and the ATA labs that would probably be best completed before either scientist returned.

* * *

Lorne was willing to follow his lead on this, as were Teyla and Ronon. Keller looked dubious, but, "As long as it's voluntary, I don't mind performing the actual surgeries."

Zelenka had stared at John across the conference table, wide eyed as though he'd been asked to build a life-size, perfectly functioning duplicate of Atlantis. "No," he finally managed, looking around the table for support. Non-existent support; Teyla and Ronon didn't have a reason to see a problem, Keller had already voiced her opinion, and Lorne was just as upset about the whole thing as John. "No, Colonel, what you are asking for…." He trailed off, unable to find the words to express his reluctance.

"It is a modification, is it not?" Teyla asked, peaceably. "Similar to how you have merged your technology with Atlantis'?"

Zelenka waved her off. "No, no, is against  _ policy _ . The whole point of beacons is to let our ships find us. What you are asking for would make it impossible!"

"I'm not asking you to completely change our subques," he offered. "Just. Change them a  _ bit _ ."

"Colonel."

John looked to Lorne for support.

"Look, Doc, these DMT people used their knowledge of the Program to kidnap Mrs. Miller and McKay. When people go back Earthside it's usually on leave, so no one is actively monitoring them unless they have a reason to. If DMT—or anyone else—decides to use their knowledge of our subques to track someone down and kidnap  _ them _ , we wouldn't know about it until they didn't show up at SGC."

" _ And _ ," John was quick to throw in, "If we implant our own subques instead of letting the Mountain do it, all files and chip numbers or whatever would stay with us on our end. No more worries about family and friends being targeted to get to us."

" _ Less _ worries," Ronon grunted.

John rolled his eyes. " _ Less _ worries, fine."

"That still does not let  _ Daedalus _ or other ships find us with subcutaneous transmitter if transmitter has a different frequency!" Zelenka flailed, jabbing at the diagrams on the holoscreen. "And for family to be targeted, there must be leak at SGC!"

"If that is the issue, could you not just give  _ Daedalus _ the new frequency?" Teyla asked, glancing between everyone.

"We could," John agreed.

Zelenka muttered something in Czech, but did nod his head.

"But if there's a leak at the SGC… well,  _ Daedalus _ would have to tell them the new frequency too, right?" Keller fiddled with her fingers, even now still getting used to sitting in Carson's seat in Command Staff briefings and being awkward about it. "So if SGC knows, wouldn't it just leak out anyway?"

"Carter knows there's a leak, even beyond DMT," John admitted, leaning back and reflecting on that frustrating hallway conversation. "Everyone at SGC does, given what we had to do to… fix the situation." He was honestly surprised Landry hadn't yet called to ream him out about Wallace. John was privately counting the minutes, seeing how long it would take the General to get around to actually reading his AAR.

Lorne was nodding along beside him. "We're still something of the black sheep out here, so SGC is going to be invested in keeping information about the Expedition and our people as secret and locked up as possible. Not that they don't like us," he added at Keller and Zelenka's expressions, "It's just, uh…."

"They don't like us," Ronon finished.

"They do not like to be confronted with something they feel like they should be able to control, but cannot," Teyla stated diplomatically.

John shrugged. "Whatever the reason, Carter expects SGC to have found the leak and plug it shortly, since it was probably mostly connected to DMT anyway. SGC is insisting on appointing certain people to DMT's board, so they'll be able to influence things in the company that way."

"Then why new subcutaneous transmitters?" Zelenka grumbled, poking at his datapad.

Ronon leaned forward, looming over the table from his standing position. "Because if this happened once, it can happen again."

Zelenka still looked doubtful, but less obverse, clearly starting to lean towards going along with John's scheme. "I do not know…."

"Oh!" Keller gasped, turning to Zelenka while still managing to shoot John and Lorne a suspiciously amused glance. "Actually, if you're reworking the subques, I have an idea I'd like to try and incorporate."

Teyla grabbed John's arm under the table, stopping his objection with a slight shake of her head. He desisted, slumping back into his seat to watch the Doctors at play. He might not always like Keller's ideas, but that was no reason to shut her down when she was finally finding her feet as part of Senior Staff.

"Well, it's definitely not my field of expertise, but I was going through some of Doctor Carson Beckett's old notes—"

Zelenka actually brightened at that, suddenly more into this project. John stifled a groan, Lorne stiffening beside him. Carson had been a good friend, an excellent surgeon and Command Team member of the highest calibre, but his main field of study was—

"You wish to incorporate something to do with ATA gene?" Zelenka asked, laying his datapad flat on the table and ready to take notes.

Keller nodded, shifting her chair closer to him. "Carson noted that it wasn't just ATA technology that reacted to ATA gene carriers, but that it also worked in reverse. The few times he'd been offworld with gene carriers, they seemed to be calmer and more settled if there was Ancient tech  in the immediate area. And back in SGC, after the crew of the  _ Tria _ was found—" John wasn't the only one to wince at that memory, "—while everyone from the Expedition demonstrated difficulties readapting to Earth, gene carriers in particular had problems that ended up with them in the infirmary. Except when carriers were assigned to work in SGC's ATA lab, where they seemed to actually remember things we take for granted."

"Like doorknobs existing," Zelenka commented, joining Keller in grinning at their Military leaders.

"Ha. Ha," John deadpanned.

Keller dragged the datapad towards her, tapping on the screen. "Well, I was going to say lightswitches…."

"Funny," Lorne said, absently rubbing his wrist.

Out of the corner of his eye, John noted Teyla and Ronon smiling and trying to hide it. He couldn't get revenge on them like he could Rodney, but he could be creative. Maybe one of the Mexican soap operas that some of Anthropology brought with them.

"So!" Keller glanced around again, seeing if she still had everyone's attention. She did; she flushed at the scrutiny, but continued, "So, I was thinking, what if we found something small, you know, a little device or a chip of some ancient technology that we could wire into the subques. Well, originally I was thinking just finding a small device and shoving it in a pocket, but that would be too easy to lose or have stolen, so if we can incorporate something into the transmitter—"

"Then it would be there permanently," Zelenka cut in, frowning as he thought. "It would have to be something that doesn't have effect or can permanently turn off."

Keller nodded. "Exactly. But if we can come up with something, then we can maybe… implant some of these in some gene carriers, and implant some without ancient tech in others, and compare the two groups—"

"Colonel should not be part of experiment," Zelenka was quick to argue.

"Too important?" Ronon asked with a grin.

Zelenka shook his head, smirking. "Too strong gene, throw all results off."

"I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now," John quipped. Then ducked his head at the frowns and glares aimed his way.

"Or, we can use the Colonel as our first test subject," Keller said, almost absentmindedly. "See what works on a gene that strong, and then scale it down as needed for everyone else."

"Or don't scale down," Zelenka continued. "Then as long as Colonel is beside someone with ATA transmitter, will maybe have same effect?"

"Oh, good thought, Radek," Keller exclaimed, making a note. "But then we'd need to make everyone's transmitter the ATA one, and we still don't know if we have the tech for that."

"We plan, and adapt as we find."

"Well, sir," Lorne said from beside John, leaning forward to get a better look at his CO's face, "Looks like we'll be getting new subques, just like you wanted."

"Great," John groaned, but couldn't find it in him to be upset at how it had happened.

* * *

After some experimentation (and many trips through the 'Gate to a planet that definitely did not have any Ancient tech beside the 'Gate on it), they figured out that a shard of one of the many ( _ many _ ) broken control crystals was enough to mimic the subtle song of Ancient tech that permeated every inch of the City, if the crystal was first grafted into an electrical loop and then initialized by a gene carrier.

("We need to come up with a better name for us," John complained to Lorne and Kusanagi, the three of them sitting on stools in the ATA labs holding slivers of crystal in their hands and thinking  _ ON _ at them as loudly as possible.

"You prefer Magic Lightswitch, sir?"

"I prefer something that makes me feel less like an alien."

"Are we not all aliens in the City, Colonel?"

"We're probably the furthest from being aliens to Atlantis, actually."

"That doesn't help, Major.")

The actual coding and reconstruction of the subcutaneous transmitters was fairly simple and straightforward. Zelenka had even gone so far as to add specific ID markers that would only show up on Atlantis' monitoring systems, allowing them to pinpoint not just where but who those life  signs were. That in turn required additional coding and protection, as well as an interface and housing for the crystal shard, but Zelenka and his team dedicated a day to it and managed to finish their customizations long before the trio in the ATA labs had initialized enough crystal to be incorporated.

As Keller and Zelenka had decided in the meeting that felt so very long ago, John was their first guinea pig. Considering Expedition policy was for everyone to have subques if they went offworld (or even up to the Mainland), it meant John was relegated to sitting in the infirmary as Keller cut his shoulder open, removed the DMT subque, and temporarily stapled him back together as the transmitter was cleaned, sterilized, and handed off to Zelenka's team for analysis and upgrades.

"Once we see how is best to modify, then we will be able to make transmitters ahead of time," Zelenka had explained when asked why, exactly, there wasn't one ready to go in immediately. "But we need functioning transmitter to start, and you were being cut open anyway."

"And while you could technically walk around Atlantis, I don't want to stitch you back up only to have to cut you open again," Keller added, stripping her gloves off. "So as long as you have a hole beside your scapula, you're going to be stuck here in isolation."

When he was feeling maudlin, sometimes John tried to picture what the Expeditions' conversations would sound like to outsiders, out of context. Probably insane.

Thankfully Zelenka's team only took an hour to make the necessary adjustments and additions, presenting the suddenly bigger than a grain of rice subque to John and Keller with great fanfare. Keller picked it up with tweezers, examining it from every angle.

"And there's definitely nothing here that will interfere with muscle movement or create health problems?"

Zelenka nodded, pulling up the schematics on screen. "We made sure is smooth and thoroughly integrated. Size is for additional microchip and crystal shard housing. Is as small as we could make it, without losing functionality."

"Hm," Keller considered it, then John. "Do you think you'd be able to feel it, if I put it back in where it was?"

It was still shaped like a grain of rice, but now was as long as his pinky finger's distal phalanx and as wide as his finger nail. The thin casing shimmered in the light—not quite plastic then, or maybe the Ancient equivalent of plastic? Non-conductive, John saw on the schematics, but beyond that he had no idea. Still, with the size and everything….

"Er, maybe we can stick it somewhere else?"

Keller smiled, patting him on his good shoulder. "Alright. What about your bicep?"

"Should go somewhere fleshy," Zelenka offered, checking over his schematics. Which was worrying. "So it will not interfere with muscle or tendons or—"

"Somewhere that if I lose a limb I'm not going to lose the subque," John requested. He'd seen a lot of battlefield amputations, had even helped with some of them, and they were messy and painful and  _ sucked so much _ , but always necessary. Hunting through a dismembered limb to find a tiny piece of not-plastic was not exactly how he ever wanted to spend time post-op.

Keller raised an eyebrow at him, but shared a look with Zelenka before they both proclaimed, "You need to shave."

His first instinct was his head, but Keller was eyeing his chest, and not in an appreciative way.

"I like my chest hair," John pleaded.

"You regrow it," Zelenka said, already turning around to go find a razor.

Keller set the subque in a small dish of disinfectant. "And when I was back home last, all my friends were liking men with less hair, not more."

John wasn't sure how to argue that he really didn't care, that he had no problem getting attention from the fairer sex, that he didn't particularly  _ want _ attention from the fairer sex (or anyone) at the moment. But Keller was still grinning, and apparently a decision had been made.

Still, one last attempt: "I don't have much fat. It's all muscle, see?" And a flex for good measure. "Ow."

"I'm tempted to just put it back in where it was, let you deal with the pain," she said as she moved around to inspect the now bleeding wound on his back. "Two staples! Colonel, really."

"I… forgot it was there?"

"The anaesthetic wore off twenty minutes ago."

"I'm used to being injured."

She paused in fixing up his wound to lean over and actually glare at him. "I know. I've read your chart."

Right, maybe not a smart point to make to an Expedition doctor.

Zelenka returned then, bearing a straight razor and tub of shaving cream. "Is best I could find so quickly."

Keller rolled her eyes but grabbed them. "Well, we'd have to wash and disinfect afterward anyway," she mused, turning back to John. "Alright, Colonel. Do you want just the one patch shaved, or everything?"

"…why  _ everything _ ?"

"You really want a random patch of clear skin on your chest?"

John laid down, closing his eyes and ignoring the new compress on his shoulder. "Just do it."

* * *

As it turned out, Keller's idea of adding something for the gene carriers immediately worked out. John, Teyla and Ronon were called on to visit M93-044, an early but mostly tentative trading partner where their two major political bodies had a relationship similar to that between the US and Russia on Earth during the late 1940s. Not quite Cold War levels yet, but not exactly close allies.

The 'Gate was positioned in territory that was controlled by a much smaller but influential—and neutral—clan. Ford, when they had first realized the dynamics of the planet, had referred to the clan as Pegasus Switzerland, been forced to explain the reference, and then treated as most honoured allies for apparently understanding the clan's position.

Since they'd lost Ford they had lost most of the affection Pegasus Switzerland had for them, but they did keep in contact for trading and news about the rest of the galaxy.

"Colonel," the village headman greeted them, looking around for McKay and not finding him. John had to fight to hold himself in check at the relief on the man's face. McKay was difficult, but that reaction was too much.

Teyla noticed his frustration and was quick to jump in. "Headman Jumin, it is always wonderful to see you."

The first hour of the visit was what Teyla called Ensuring Everyone is Aware of Problems in Pegasus and John and Ford had called Galaxy Gossip. Pegasus Switzerland didn't have much to trade in and of themselves, keeping their numbers small and only practicing a subsistence lifestyle since they were most likely to be targeted by the Wraith, but the other two clans had a decent surplus of goods that required trading. Pegasus Switzerland was the planet's designated traders, risking themselves to venture to other worlds more likely to be culled and getting to keep a portion of what was traded for in return. They tended to frequent different markets than the Expedition—they were still actually on the good side of the Genii and their allies, instead of working off an extremely tentative peace treaty—so heard different things than the City.

The Lonu were about to bring in a new harvest of Tuttle Root, which was wonderful news (the Athosians had tried to transplant it to Lantea's Mainland, but it had never taken; apparently it  _ had _ taken on New Athos and New Lantea, but with the loss of Athos it made the Lonu practically the sole suppliers). The planet and people of no name but the Expedition called M81-419 had gotten on the Genii's bad side by supposedly reneging on a trade deal, and so was largely out of the Genii's favour and alliance. P36-013 and M36-933, a planet and habitable moon from neighbouring systems, had both been culled. And on and on for longer than Ronon could concentrate.

And, once upon a time, longer than John could. But the soft hum of the crystal echoed soothingly against his sternum and through his chest into his limbs, peaceful in a way that not even meditation in the cloister had been.

The subject was still largely boring, but it wasn't so difficult to sit and listen for the nuggets of useful information, not as much as it used to be. Headman Jumin noticed, and made an effort to engage John more in the conversation, even sharing a couple jokes with them. Ronon actually nodded off after three quarters of an hour, but John's apparent interest was rewarded with interest in turn. The second hour evolved into the 'getting to bond with and trust you' discussion that AR-1 had been denied after Ford's loss. Ronon did wake up for that, holding forth on various weapons and their uses, the best strategies to avoid and/or kill Wraith, and comparing Satedan poetry against Pegasus Switzerland's oral tradition's style.

The third hour was when dinner came out and they got down to business: the other two clans were starting to trade between them instead of requiring offworld trade, so Pegasus Switzerland was at a bit of a loss how to make up for the loss. It wasn't valuables or trinkets they were needing, but grain and fruits, as they had vegetables and meat aplenty. But, with a subsistence lifestyle, they didn't have much to trade themselves.

"We normally need those sorts of things ourselves," John admitted, thinking fast. "But, uh…."

"Pellen regularly has a large crop of  _ suida _ berries," Teyla mused, "And I think the Kahgari are moving into their harvest seasons."

"And Clkshik," Ronon added.

Clkshik—or that-planet-with-the-name-we-can't-hope-to-pronounce-properly—had become AR-1's trading contact strictly for the fact that Ronon  _ could _ pronounce their name, which was something they held in high esteem. Or at the very least took as a sign that their potential new trading partners could attempt to be respectful. Aside from that, the Clkshiki weren't particular about anything else aside from a fair trade agreement, and the Botanists and Ecologists and Marines actually worked together to put together a slide show about different agricultural techniques that the Clkshiki might be interested in. They liked the, admittedly primitive, thresher design for their grains, and the Expedition liked their grains—closest to wheat they'd ever found in Pegasus, aside from Belken.

Even with the threshers they still needed help with the harvest—the last culling had only been a couple decades back, and they were still rebuilding both buildings and population—and the Marines were more than happy to be the extra manpower.

Khagari's trade was more and less straightforward. They didn't need or want anything from the Expedition, but they did have a taste for  _ suida _ berries. Except the Pellenese refused to trade directly with the Khagari, because of some past slight that had at some point become cultural. The two planets didn't actually have an issue with each any more, and were as close to a Pegasus EuroZone as had been witnessed, but there were still those traditions, and the Expedition was their way around it. The Pellenese, on their part, were happy to trade extra  _ suida _ berries to in turn be traded with Kahgari, so long as the Expedition continued sending people familiar with even the basics of dentistry to their planet to run clinics.  _ Suida _ berries were particularly sweet and literally tooth-rotting in large enough quantities, and when the majority of your diet was various ways in which the berries were prepared, it made for a booming dentistry—and dentures—economy. Except the Pellenese only had the most basic understanding of oral healthcare. Enter Expedition, stage right.

John tried to sort this out in his mind. They could introduce Pegasus Switzerland to Pellen and Kahgari directly, though trade with the Clkshiki would probably have to be done through Atlantis. At the same time, the clan didn't have much to trade in the first place, either to the Expedition or the other three planets, except for information about the Genii. John was happy to make that particular trade, but Teyla insisted that it would do the clan (and other potential allies) a disservice. Making them effective spies for Atlantis and therefore potential targets if—when—this supposed Atlantis-Genii alliance went south wasn't something John had a problem with, though he was coming to realize that, when it came to the safety of the City and the people that made up Atlantis' citizens, there wasn't much he wouldn't do.

Teyla was his (and Ronon's, and McKay's) voice of logic and sanity for a reason. Which was slightly disturbing, when you considered that Pegasus morality basically amounted to 'Whatever saves the lives of your people' or 'Whatever kills the most Wraith'.

"Is there… any chance you could plant more? Perhaps something small, like an extra row of  _ hochan _ ?" Teyla asked, trading a quick look with John and Ronon. "It would not be much to trade, but in the right places it could get you something… sufficient to supplement your diet?"

Headman Jumin shook his head slowly. "Our fields are running fallow. We need to switch them every cycle, but that means we often have only just enough to feed our people and no more."

John abruptly became aware of the bowl of stew that was rapidly cooling in his hands, and made a point of finishing it, of complimenting the cooks. Jumin looked pleased. John tried not to look sheepish.

"What if we did a walk around?" John asked. Before today he wouldn't have suggested it—Jumin would never have been comfortable enough around them to let them further into the village—but the man seemed open enough now. "We won't touch anything, just… see if there's anything we could help with."

Jumin still looked dubious, but agreed to spend some time on a tour of the fields around the village.

Some were fallow, most were planted and well-tended, and some—

"They were good fields until three cycles ago," Jumin mused at the completely dry and parched earth, not even a weed to be seen. "We do not know why they are this way. Perhaps they were overplanted too many times."

"I can't believe I'm saying this," John groused to Teyla and Ronon, missing McKay fiercely, "But I wish we had brought Parrish."

Jumin looked up, suspicious. "What is this Parrish?"

"Er, Doctor Parrish," John began, and paused as Jumin's eyes shuttered closed. "Wait, I mean—Doctor is a title where we're from."

"It means they are the most learned and educated people in their particular field of study," Teyla explained.

John nodded quickly. "Right! Right, so, McKay is an expert at, uh, building things, and space—and never lets anyone forget that—and Doctor Parrish is a friendly, excitable man who is an expert on plants."

"Friendly, is he?" Jumin grumbled, still suspicious.

John sighed. They had been doing so well. Baby steps, baby steps. "Headman Jumin… with your permission, can we bring back a small sample of this soil to our botanists to study? They might be able to figure out what happened to these fields, and maybe how you can plant crops here again."

"Your…  _ botanists _ can do that?"

"They can try," Teyla reassured, "And from what I have seen on other planets where they have helped, Lantea's botanists are very well versed in their craft."

It was sometimes frustrating, keeping the whole 'there is another galaxy of humans out there, one can you get to directly through Atlantis!' secret. Being able to say that the Lanteans were comprised of only the best and brightest in their respective fields, that there was a planet of over six billion people out there that Atlantis' contingent was drawn from would solve so many problems. At the same time, it would mean an open invitation for people and Wraith to try and find a way to the Milky Way, and that was one thing they were trying to minimize, here.

So the continued suspicion was understood, given that Atlantis's trading patterns indicated a fairly small population, which meant a small number of people to draw from for specialties. Being the best in a small community didn't necessarily mean you were  _ good _ .

Still, Jumin let them scoop a pile of what looked like dirt but felt like sand into a plastic baggy, and sat with the Headman and his family for a small cup of Athosian tea (care of Teyla) before being escorted back through the 'Gate.

"They might make excellent trade partners with Pellen and Kahgari, if they can solve their crop issues," Teyla offered as the trio of AR-1 made their way to drop off their arms and TAC vests in the Ready Room.

Ronon snorted, leaning against the wall as John and Teyla disarmed. "If they're Pellen and Khagari's in between, where does that leave us?"

"Treaty brokers," John quipped. At Teyla and Ronon's unimpressed stares, he shrugged awkwardly. "Or… something."

" _ Colonel Sheppard to Medical _ ,  _ Colonel Sheppard to Medical _ ."

"We  _ just got back _ ," John called up to the ceiling. "We were heading there anyway!"

Zelenka waited for their post-op physical to finish before pouncing. "So, Colonel? How did it feel?"

"Good," John replied. "Itchy."

He seemed to have a knack for annoying people today, John noticed, or maybe just people he spoke to. Zelenka was tapping his fingers rhythmically on the edge of his datapad, a thoroughly unimpressed look being aimed at John over the top of his glasses.

"Okay, okay! Fine, it was fine."

"John was much less distracted today," Teyla offered. "Unlike Ronon, he actually managed to stay awake during our discussions."

Ronon didn't bother replying to that, staring at John instead. At John's uncovered, completely hairless chest.

John grabbed his shirt to throw it on, glaring at his teammate. "What?"

"'s weird."

"Tell me about it."

" _ Colonel _ ," Zelenka interrupted.

Once an ATA lightswitch guinea pig, John privately mourned. "Right, well. Teyla's right? Every time I started to get distracted I, uh, focused instead on what I could hear from the crystal. Just a few seconds, but then I could concentrate on the extremely riveting debate about the best colours to wear at the Umyanan festival."

"You should have, we are attending it this year."

"Since when?"

"Since Colonel Carter heard of it and wished to attend," Teyla replied. "We have been asked to be her security detail."

"…and who okayed this?"

Teyla cocked her head, genuinely confused. "Is it not your name on the document on the intranet, John?"

"So Lorne," John answered his own question. He really would have to start reading more of the requests, wouldn't he?

"Colonel, you said you could focus on the crystal to restore your concentration," Zelenka interjected, tapping away at his datapad, actually taking notes this time. "Did you have trouble concentrating before new subcutaneous transmitter? Or before Atlantis?"

Concentration? "I've never had trouble  _ concentrating _ ," John corrected. "There were just some times where I felt… itchy."

"Itchy?"

"Like a rash?"

Keller had the best timing. "Noooo," he drew out. "Like pins and needles. When your leg falls asleep because you've been sitting on it too long, and then you go to stand up and it's tingly in a painful way."

Ronon and Teyla nodded their understanding of their explanation as Keller started making her own notes on the topic. Rodney was going to murder someone when he came back and found out that he'd missed a sort-of ATA experiment. "So do you think that Atlantis is suppressing something, and the pressure is only released when you're away from Ancient tech?"

It was close to what John thought it was, but not quite. "More like… pouring molasses into a tub of oil and then straining it out."

Keller was understandably confused, but Zelenka was nodding. "I think I see. Atlantis fills space, but when is removed—or you are removed from Atlantis—there is empty space again and rest of you needs to shift to fill space."

Keller was making a note of it—and probably to ask other gene carriers their perspective on it—but was nodding nonetheless. "Okay, so, the crystal in the transmitter makes you feel… full? Complete?"

"…sure, let's go with that."

Kusanagi skipped into the infirmary then, stripped down to a sports bra and BDU trousers, and hopped up on the bed beside John. "Doctors Keller, Zelenka, I am ready."

"Alright, Miko, let me just double check the Colonel's stitches and we'll get you rechipped," Keller greeted with a smile.

John did his best to ignore Keller stripping off his shirt again—he was  _ cold _ , seriously, that was it—and focused instead on the tiny programming engineer. "So, you're the next guinea pig?"

Kusanagi nodded, tying her hair up into a bun. "Yes, sir, Colonel. Until we have a greater sample population, we decided it would be better to skip the Major for now."

"Because we're the Military leaders, and we can't both be down and out," John agreed. It was logical.

Teyla sat down beside Kusanagi, resting her hand on the other woman's slightly trembling shoulder. "Doctor Keller can provide you with anaesthetic enough you do not feel the pain."

"I know," Kusanagi agreed, "But I still do not like being cut open."

Ronon nodded. "No one does," and collected his own shirt before walking out of the infirmary.

Teyla squeezed Kusanagi's shoulder again, turning to Keller as she finished with John and then approached the other women with a fresh needle and scalpel. "Doctor Keller, once you are finished with Doctor Kusanagi, perhaps you might try inserting a… subque into me? With both the Colonel and Doctor McKay on my team, would it not be better to have another person nearby with this new transmitter, in case something happens to their own?"

"Well, we were supposed to chip both you and Ronon years ago," Keller admitted with a wry smile. "I think we have yours still lying around somewhere that can be modified."

Zelenka was nodding in the background, gesturing for one of the other science team members to scurry off and, probably, find it.

Teyla smiled at her gratefully, at Kusanagi, and then at John. "I would be very happy if you could."

Kusanagi, for all her apparent fear, only hissed at the needle and made no reaction whatsoever as the scalpel sliced open just enough skin to remove the old subque. Keller was quick to stitch her up as well, handing the transmitter to Zelenka to work his magic on, and then left to help find Teyla's designated subque.

"You don't have to do this," John offered, Kusanagi wandering to a corner of the infirmary to grab a spare datapad and, to no one's surprise, start working on a project while she waited.

Teyla smiled at him, reaching across the distance to pat John's hand. "I do not, but I wish to. It is an easy thing, and will help us if Ronon and I am ever separated from you and Rodney again while awaiting rescue."

Ah yes, the super volcano incident.  _ Daedalus _ had still managed to grab Teyla and Ronon, but only by their radio signals. Knowing there'd be another way to track at least Teyla was a reassuring thought.

"…think we'll be able to talk Ronon into it?"

Teyla's raised eyebrows were answer enough.

* * *

Another two days passed, things going surprisingly smoothly. No cullings, no emergencies, no trick hallway that lead to a lab with superweapons inside, and no trick hallway that lead to a lab with super _ viruses _ inside. Rodney was scheduled to return in three days, Carter probably returning with him (or not so probably; she'd likely stay an extra day to avoid being stuck in quarantine with him for twenty four hours).

And still, no blow up from Landry about Wallace.

John stared unseeing at his laptop, musing on that. Did something happen and Landry was too busy to read Expedition AARs, even when they occurred on his own soil? Did Landry just not ever bother to read Expedition reports? Had he read it and somehow agreed with John's decision? Or had he read it, blown up, and was waiting for John's guilty conscience to make him come clean in person? Or worse—waiting to use it in the future, to block potential promotions or John returning to Pegasus the next time he was called back to stand before the IOA? Landry wasn't exactly his biggest fan, but they weren't any sort of enemies, either.

Lorne wandered into their joint office—technically the Major had his own, but John's was more central and hardly ever used, anyway—to throw a pile of file folders on his desk. John wasn't sure where those had come from, since the Expedition was paperless, but they did exist, at least in Lorne's hands.

Lots of things actually existed in Lorne's hands that didn't before or otherwise. The man was an artist, but to John's knowledge there was a difference between creating paintings and creating objects out of thin air. Or maybe it was just Lorne.

"Sir?"

Lorne, who was looking at him with worry.

John tried a smile, pushing his laptop away. "Hey. Anything going on in the Watchtower?"

"AR-12 all got the new subques," Lorne offered, slumping into the seat across from John. "They said that Doctor Bambus was particularly less scatterbrained on their last mission."

To Pellen, to open tentative negotiations on behalf of Pegasus Switzerland, if John remembered right. And he was pretty sure he did—Parrish woke up him (and most of Atlantis) just that morning by screaming in excitement at the results from the soil sample. At least John could reassure himself that everyone in Atlantis was ready to defend the City at a moment's notice.

"Well, that's good. No more broken ankles," which was almost as much of a running joke as the lieutenants.

Lorne smiled in return, but let his grin drop away as he studied his CO further. "Sir, permission to speak freely?"

"How many times do I have to say you can  _ always _ speak freely?"

Lorne quirked a grin at him. "Sir… you've been acting out of sorts since returning to the City. Did something happen back on Earth?"

John considered it a moment—the AAR had been filed at SGC, which meant Atlantis' servers probably didn't have the updated report and wouldn't be getting it until the next databurst. At the same time, mission AARs were open reading for everyone on offworld teams (and in the City, even those not on 'Gate teams), in case they should run across a similar situation. Very little was classified in those mission reports, save for particular personal information, and Lorne was both the Executive Officer and the leader of AR-3. He'd read it sooner rather than later, and at least this way John could give him a heads-up.

"Well, you know we had to bring Todd in to help…."

Lorne stiffened. "Did he kill someone?"

John grimaced. "Something like that. I… here," and spun around his laptop so that Lorne could see the screen, read the damning report presented there. "I don't regret what I did, but… I feel like I should."

Lorne took his time, clicking back and forth a couple times to check facts or simply to give himself more time to absorb what it said, but eventually he finished and looked up at John.

"Sir… maybe it says something about me, too, but I don't see you did anything wrong. You said you gave Wallace the option, and he took it of his own free will. That's not ordering a man to be murdered; that's offering a prisoner the choice of their own type of incarceration."

"You mean execution."

"There'd be many a man who would take the chance to choose a medicated execution over the electric chair, sir."

"But what kind of man chooses death at all?"

"The one who can't see a reason for living."

A reason for living. Henry Wallace's daughter—if she had survived…. But no, and Wallace had chosen it. John had offered, had made it look  _ tempting _ , but most people would balk at such a thought, of offering yourself to be eaten alive.

Would he have been able to make the same choice, in Wallace's situation? Probably—he'd been willing to fly a nuke into a Hive, to steal a jumper to take back the City, to take on any number of suicide missions since coming to Atlantis. What kind of man chose death over life?

The kind that had nothing else to give.

"We're getting kind of philosophical here, Major."

"Doc Heightmeyer would have been proud."

John managed a smile at that. He had generally avoided Kate Heightmeyer like the plague, hating the idea of someone coming in and picking apart his mind, studying his thoughts and making judgements about them. Some people found relief in seeing a psychologist, but he'd once spent hours every day for nearly a year with various psychologists and psychiatrists and other specialists and so-called 'mind doctors', and couldn't associate it with anything other than uncomfortable conversations and unrealistic expectations.

His father could be very determined.

Aside from the simple fact she was a psychologist (and the occasional breach of doctor-patient confidentiality—the Expedition had very few boundaries people were uncomfortable with crossing, but even John had made a note of that), John hadn't minded Kate. He'd done his level best to not stay within her reach for any length of time, but she hadn't been a bad person. Teyla and Elizabeth had liked her, so that had to count for something.

"So, Lorne," John dragged himself out of his thoughts, "When you get the new subque, think that will help with our lieutenant problem?"

* * *

Even with Midway there to run relay, the weekly databurst was still a direct dial-in from the City to the Mountain. Less chance of interception, McKay and Carter had decided, and could be done with sufficient naquadah generators instead of draining the ZPM. Still, it meant the wormhole was only open for two seconds at the most, not nearly enough time to greet someone or have a conversation.

Or get chewed out by Landry, John praised silently, standing at attention as the 'Gate finished dialing, connected, then sputtered out of existence less than two seconds later.

"We have received databurst," Chuck reported, already entering the code to send the extremely compressed file over to CompEng for extraction. "Ah, sir, a file was sent separately, addressed to you directly."

"Could be a virus," John joked, worry creeping up on him again.

Chuck smiled at that—not the only one to do so—and obligingly said, "I'll send it on to CompEng to run a scan."

"Hey, I have Norton."

John was promptly booed out of the control room, one of the other techs yelling, "Death to Norton!" as he scarpered off.

CompEng—or Kusanagi, Simpson, and occasionally some of the Ops/Tech people and/or McKay, when he could be bothered—gave priority to the file sent directly to him, and had it ready for him by the time John got to his desk. Not from Landry, John noted with relief, and then felt his stomach drop. Not Landry, but McKay.

Since he'd stepped through the 'Gate, John hadn't really considered what Rodney thought about the Wallace situation, apart from the obvious relief that Jeannie was alive and would be well with some rest and physio. Hadn't wanted to, really. McKay was a pain and obtuse and arrogant and a bit cowardly and sometimes even a bit of a pervert, but he was also a genius and reliable even through his screaming, and always, always John's friend. John trusted the Canadian with his life, with the lives of his Team and even the entire Expedition, and Rodney had never betrayed that, not even with Doranda. He liked to think that Rodney trusted John with all the important things, too, with people's lives and secrets, with  _ his _ life and secrets, and John had worked to never betray Rodney in turn.

So his reaction to this—to John's decision,  _ Wallace's _ decision—could either make or break their friendship, their entire team.

It took nearly half an hour—and CompEng sending over files from the actual databurst marked for his immediate perusal (though when, exactly, a review on a supply report submitted six months ago counted as high priority, John didn't know)—before he was ready to read the email.

And then was blindsided, because it wasn't from Rodney.

_ John _ ,

_ It's Jean. My brother doesn't know I've grabbed his laptop so I need to type this quickly, because he'll probably only be distracted by the new coffee maker for a couple minutes. _

_ I wanted to say thank you in person, but you left so quickly I didn't get the chance. So: thank you. Not for myself, though I'm grateful for that. Thank you for my brother. _

_ Colonel Carter explained what happened, and I don't blame you or Meredith or anyone for the decisions you made. Mer's still beating himself up for getting me kidnapped—Kaleb is, of course, helping with the guilt trip, no matter what I say—so I guess you're probably feeling out of sorts about things, too. I truly don't think you should take on responsibility for Wallace. You don't have the right to. Wallace had his options, and he chose to offer his life to save mine. As I've been telling my brother, I'm the one who should, and does, feel guilty. If Mer and I hadn't pushed him while we were trapped, or if we had been faster, had better coding for the nanites, then maybe things could have ended differently. I wish we could have saved Sharon, I wish no one had to die, I wish this had never happened. But it did, and I get to live with it. _

_ Mer is actually helping, in as much as he knows how to help with something so illogical as emotions—Madison has started calling him Uncle Spock, would you believe it—and Kaleb is always ready to help. _

_ Madison, though. She's been my rock the last few days. I can get up, I can get through the day, I can even suffer through my physio, because of her. _

_ John, I know you don't have the same kind of rock, but I think maybe your team can come close. And maybe you don't need it. You are career military, right? But just in case you do: I forgive you. And your team, Mer included, they forgive you. And on behalf of Henry and Sharon: I forgive you. _

_ I hope you're doing okay out there, and I'll send Mer back to you as soon as I can convince him that the coffee there is just as good as it is here. _

_ Stay well, _

_ Jean Miller _

John reread the letter a few more times, each time focusing on another part of it. He hadn't thought that Jeannie would feel guilty about Wallace's death, but he had given up his life to save hers. That would definitely have left an impact.

She really was a strong woman, and not just because she'd somehow survived being raised in the same household as Rodney. John grinned, feeling minutely lighter. He hadn't needed the forgiveness, hadn't felt guilt about Wallace himself… but he had, about Jeannie. About her getting caught up in this mess, in Expedition problems when she wasn't technically one of them, didn't have the opportunity to be properly protected by them.

_ I forgive you _ .

Whenever Landry came down on him, John was going to be able to remember those words. They would be his sword and shield.

* * *

John was leaning on one of the decorative desalinization pillars outside the infirmary, chatting to the lineup of people who were there to get their subques switched out. Zelenka and his minions had managed to get the modification and customization of the transmitters down to ten minutes a piece, and that had seemed to be the cue needed for the rest of the Expedition to join in on the switch.

Most had, by now, read the AAR for why two of their division leaders and their Wraith prisoner had been called back to Earth, and had managed to largely get passed the horror at the situation and to righteous indignation on behalf of McKay and Mrs. Miller. Somehow that had translated to joining in on removing the DMT subcutaneous transmitters and replacing them Atlantis-made ones, and John wasn't going to question the decision making process behind it. He would have encouraged people to volunteer to change theirs anyway.

If he was being perfectly honest, he was relieved enough at not needing to press for people to make the switch that he hadn't bothered trying to schedule times. With both Carter and McKay dirtside there were very few offworld missions being run, which meant fewer new things brought back for study and therefore more time to work on projects that had been piling up. Some of those projects were less than thrilling, especially in comparison to the novelty of Expedition-made subques, and so the lineup outside Medical was quite a bit longer than it otherwise would be during lunch. The Marines weren't particularly thrilled at the lack of work, but the  _ suida _ berry crop would need harvesting within the month and the Clkshiki wheat harvest would likely be even sooner. Both were labour missions that involved large festivals and copious amounts of food and drink, so in a bid to be selected for either mission the Marines were on their best behavior, including standing peaceably in line with the Scientists.

Mostly—AR-8 didn't seem capable of  _ not _ pranking each other, but at least they were small, friendly pranks that helped to ease the City-wide tensions brought about by the latest slew of reports.

No one was acknowledging what happened with Wallace and Todd, but they weren't looking at John like he was some kind of monster or resisting orders, so as far as he was concerned it was a win.

"When is your next leave, sir?"

John rocked back on his heels, considering. "Hm, not for another year. I'll probably take it here, on the planet with the amazing beaches and swells."

"You surf sir?"

"Went to Stanford," John dismissed with a shrug. "I don't know anyone who's lived in Cali that hasn't surfed."

The line was fairly slow moving—Zelenka and Keller could only move so quickly—and more people had joined the line as time passed, bringing datapads and books and one a portable stereo system. Someone had even brought a game of Twister along to kill time.

"Enjoy a free range of movement while you can," John ended up cautioning them, still feeling twinges in his shoulder and upper abdomen as he sank to sit cross legged, before calling out, "Left foot, blue!"

With a third of the Expedition crammed into the hallways around Medical, and  _ Pluto _ and other Sci-Fi soundtracks playing in the background from the speakers, it wasn't any surprise that no one outside 'Gate Ops realized that the 'Gate had connected and returned their missing leader to them. Frankly, John was debating declaring this a Sunday, for all the work that was getting done and attention being paid to the outside world.

John had just finished calling, "Right hand, red!" when he noticed her presence at his shoulder. "Colonel Carter, wonderful to have you back, ma'am."

Unlike every other CO he'd ever had, Carter didn't look about ready to drop kick him out of the Air Force post haste. She was actually smiling, staring at the jumble of a line and various time killing methods. "Decided to have your own party, since you missed Daniel's?" She asked, pointing further down the hall where it opened up enough for an impromptu swing dance competition.

John shrugged, getting to his feet and handing the spinner off to Kusanagi, camped out beside him. "Well, we figure it's a time honoured tradition of the Stargate Program."

Carter shook her head at him, but didn't move to walk away. John didn't bother to move, either, watching the Twister game come to a Rube-Goldberg sort of end. "Good trip back? Todd behave himself? Midway treat you well?"

"It was really quiet with my travelling companion, who, incidentally, is safe and sound in the brig," she replied. "Got a lot of work done, and a lot of reports read. Something happened with New Switzerland?"

"I thought we were calling it Pegasus Switzerland," John mock-pouted. "And yeah, the other two clans aren't up for interplanetary trading now, so they need to find a new source of fruits and grains for their people. We suggested Pellen and Kahgari, but there's issues with their crops."

"On Pellen or Kahgari?"

"Pegasus Switzerland, actually. Barely enough to feed their own people, let alone trade. Parrish and Botany are looking into soil samples, trying to see why some fields are practically salted."

"We'll need to keep an eye on them, then," Carter mused. Whether she meant Pegasus Switzerland or Botany, John wasn't sure. The Botanists, when they wanted to be, were terrifyingly creative.

From Medical, Doctor Biro—having no dead bodies to autopsy for the first time in months and so playing triage nurse—stuck her head out the door. "Next! …Sergeant, if that tattoo extends as far down as I think it does, you better have a second favourite place for the incision!"

"Ma'am," Sergeant Kippling nodded, stepping through the door as he pulled off his t-shirt.

Carter raised an eyebrow at John. "And the incision in question…?"

"Well, that report about Pegasus Switzerland… there should have been a note at the bottom?"

"Yes, to another report that wasn't forwarded to SGC," Carter agreed, rebuke in her voice.

"It wasn't ready yet," John answered. "Miko, you mind if I…?"

She looked up from the Twister game, spinner ready to go and giggle already on her lips at the knot of bodies trying to fit on the mat. "Oh, yes, feel free. Welcome home, Colonel."

"Thank you, Doctor Kusanagi," Carter replied, looking over John's shoulder as he grabbed Kusanagi's datapad and quickly brought up the report in question. Technically it was a complete file of multiple reports from both Keller and Zelenka's teams, as well as addenda from John, Kusanagi, Lorne and transcripts of the relevant Command Staff briefings. "And this is… what, exactly?"

"It would be easiest to understand if you read the transcripts first, then the Medical and Science teams reports, and then the addenda from myself, the Colonel, and the Major," Kusanagi offered, still from her spot on the floor. "It did start as Colonel Sheppard's idea, but Doctors Keller and Zelenka were intrigued by the idea and expanded it further."

"So I guess I'll just… read this, then," Carter said, and took a seat on the other side of John from Kusanagi to do just that.

John shrugged, sitting down against the wall as well, and spent the next twenty minutes helping Kusanagi call out positions and refereeing the game. "Crabtree, you can't lean on Higgins if Higgins isn't playing!"

When she was finished, there was an unreadable expression on Carter's face. John figured now might be the time he'd get kicked to the curb, but again she surprised him by looking at the line, looking at John, and then back at the reports. "I guess it's a bit too late to try and put a kibosh on this, isn't it?"

"Would you want to?" John asked.

Carter shook her head, not quite saying no but not disbelieving, either. "Honestly? I don't know what to make of this. I'll need to think about it for a while, but I'm sure I'll have some opinions soon. John… it really bothered you, didn't it? DMT?"

He felt his jaw working, forcefully biting down on what he wanted to say immediately and instead carefully measuring his words. "I know we can't expect the Program to be able to make everything ourselves. I know contracts like the one with DMT are needed. But when it's for something as personal as an interplanetary tracker, when not just us but our families get targeted because of it…. We exposed a weakness, and eventually someone else is going to find out about that weakness, try to exploit it again." He had too much energy, angry or otherwise, and jumped to his feet. There wasn't enough room to pace, but he could swing his arms or twist around, get a better view of everyone in line. The Expedition members, his responsibility, his people, his  _ family _ . "I'm not saying I doubt that SGC could handle stopping the leak and securing our information; I wanted to ensure that there was no more information or weakness for people to find and take advantage of."

Because some people would take any opportunity they saw to get ahead. Some would even take those opportunities, not to advance themselves but just for the sake of ruining someone else.

…and he really was thinking a lot about his father, recently.

Carter watched him silently, then looked back to the datapad when it was obvious he wasn't going to say anything more. "Well, I can see your point. And with Keller and Zelenka having come up with a way to turn it into a continuation of Doctor Beckett's research, neither I nor SGC could argue against it.  _ But _ , if it turns out there is any sort of backlash from these homemade transmitters, I will be ordering a new shipment of DMT's to be inserted immediately. Understood, Colonel?"

"Understood," John agreed. Now to hope that Zelenka's team hadn't screwed up somewhere along the lines.

Carter continued to monopolize Kusanagi's datapad, having gotten comfortable on the floor and not looking ready to move any time soon. John wandered off to get some snacks from the galley and brought them back to share between he, Kusanagi and Carter. The line continued to snake along, the Twister game eventually getting competitive enough that it had to be put away and two people sent in to the infirmary ahead of everyone else for treatment of bruising and lacerations.

Captain Alves was near the end of the line, looking slightly ill but nonetheless keeping a stiff back and proud posture before his Marines. "Ma'am," he greeted when he saw Carter, "We've missed you here."

"Didn't Colonel Sheppard and Major Lorne do a good job running the place while I was gone?"

"They did, ma'am," Alves agreed, "But they both went on some offworld missions, and I had to keep my company on standby for a rescue the whole time."

"We're not  _ that _ bad," John muttered.

Carter smiled. "Thank you for your hard work and conscientious planning, Captain Alves."

"Thank you, ma'am. And, if it's not inappropriate to ask, ma'am, will you be getting a new subque as well?"

Carter, to her credit, didn't immediately dismiss the idea. "I'll need to think about it, first. Just got back, after all."

"Of course, ma'am."

* * *

Rodney had chosen to stay back for another week with his sister, ostensibly taking the leave he'd been putting off for the last few years. John didn't fault him—he technically also had some weeks built up, but he was never sure what he wanted to do with that time and so kept putting it off. Rodney simply refused to leave his work without a good reason, and Jeannie was apparently that good reason.

Also,  _ Uncle Spock _ . John was not going to let that go.

With Carter back, it meant John didn't have to keep up on what was happening in Science, but between Zelenka's subque team and Parrish's Pegasus Switzerland team, he still found himself in the labs more than he'd prefer for the following week. He ended up in the ATA labs with Zelenka for testing to see if the new subque interfered with other ATA tech—it didn't—and avoiding Botany until an hour after Parrish screamed.

Lorne swore the man was worse in the field, but John just couldn't see how.

"The soil! It's amazing, Colonel, really, the—"

"Okay, stop, before you go further," John interrupted, because at this point he was well-versed in scientist wrangling, "I want you to explain whatever you're about to say as if you're talking to a three year old. Okay, go."

Parrish blinked at him, wide doe eyes that should not be legal, before beginning again, slightly less excited. "Well, I'm not an edaphologist, or even a pedologist, but I had to study some before coming here, and—this is really quite remarkable! There's evidence of some type of… mutation in the soil samples you brought back. It's not even what we'd normally see in farm soils, the complete depletion of some types of nutrients and unhealthy buildup of others, but soil type is shifting completely from the sand-silt-clay structural type to… well, I'm not sure what to call it. Pre-crystallization? Colonel," Parrish finally addressed John directly, "To make a long story short, it is beginning to turn into a crystalline structure, based around an atomic structure that we've only seen in one other place."

John absently rubbed at his sternum. "Let me guess."

Parrish nodded at him. "I've taken the liberty of sending samples to Geology and the ATA labs—" John tried to hide his wince, Rodney was going to  _ kill him  _ for missing something else, even if it was Botany-related, "—but I'd like to keep researching this. I might not be able to help these fields, but if I can find a way to prevent the other fields from crystallizing, or adapt their crops to the new type of soil, I'd like to try."

Whatever else could be said about Parrish, he was dedicated to helping people. A regular humanitarian. "Like you did adapting the potatoes to soil from the Mainland?"

Parrish's grin was wide. "Who doesn't love a good French fry?"

"Alright, well, keep working at it," John ordered. "And, uh, maybe you could move to a more… insulated lab?"

The botanist was clearly bemused at the suggestion, but nodded anyway and returned to his trays and samples.

John shook his head and left, aiming for the ATA labs. The subque switchover was completely finished (save for Carter, who still hadn't decided one way or another, and Rodney, who was still Earthside with a couple Expedition Marines on rotation at the Mountain for the next month). Zelenka and his team should be in the monitoring stages now, and probably looking for a new project. The crystal mutation probably wouldn't interest them all that much, which meant they'd be chomping at the bit to explore more parts of the City, few as were left.

Well, supposedly few. In area covered, Atlantis was slightly bigger than Manhattan with 24.6 square miles to Manhattan's 22.8, not including the many floors of the city towers or the various levels within her floating base. There was no way the scientists had managed to actually map out every inch of her in the four years they'd been out here, not when most of that time was filled with medical emergencies and human-killing nanoviruses and Wraith attacks.

Zelenka wasn't in the lab, but Kusanagi and Simpson were. And, based on their hissing whispers over a couple datapads,  _ plotting _ .

"Doctors, should I be worried about you scheming?"

Both whipped around to face him, Simpson managing a straight face and Kusanagi somehow managing to look guilty by not looking guilty at all. "Colonel! Did you hear what Botany found?"

"The sand is crystals," John repeated what he had managed to understand from Parrish's diatribe.

Simpson valiantly fought not to roll her eyes. John appreciated the attempt.

“So what were you ladies up to? Plotting to overthrow your Lord and Master while he’s still Earthside?”

“I would make a great CSO,” Simpson not-answered.

“We were debating if it is possible to grow crystals that are pre-programed,” Kusanagi explained. “The crystals are only microscopic now, we understand, but imagine what we could do with a whole control crystal that only needs to be placed into position without any further adjustments made!”

Simpson nodded slowly. “Obviously it would take time to get to that point, but if we could salvage ships--even Goa’uld ships--without needing to go through our allies or use up favours, we could build a proper fleet.”

“Hey, pretty sure we  _ have _ the beginnings of a fleet.”

“Of course Colonel,” Simpson retorted. “Let’s fly into a Lucian Alliance stronghold or a world allied to the Genii in an F-302 or the  _ Apollo _ . Very undercover, very stealthy.”

Well, when she put it that way. “Just pointing out that we aren’t exactly lacking in space-faring vessels now.”

Kusanagi set her datapad aside, smiling warmly at John. Simpson eyed him curiously. Like most of the Expedition, they’d reached a point where standing on ceremony was reserved only for actual ceremony. John might be the Commanding Military Officer, but that meant more to the Marines than the civilians--especially to those who John spent ATA Hour with, either comparing notes or being ordered about.

“So,” Simpson started slowly, “What brings you down to the ATA labs Colonel? ATA Hour is over.” And John had spent it in Botany instead of the labs. He wasn’t sure whether to count himself lucky or not, since at least the general labs didn’t show evidence of uncontrolled explosions for once.

John casually leaned his hip against their desk. “I wanted to check in with Doc Z.”

Simpson straightened. “About the subques? Is something wrong?”

“Just making sure there’s not.”

“Colonel Carter has said that if anything does go wrong she will make us replace our subques with a new batch from DMT,” Kusanagi informed her fellow CompEng geek. “So if anything happens we need to be ready to fix it before Colonel Carter finds out about it.”

“I get it,” Simpson agreed. “I can spread the word around, tell people if they’re feeling weird to email a tech help ticket to CompEng with a unique codeword so I can let Doc Keller know. ‘Power Fluctuations’ maybe?”

“Maybe a couple codewords, so it doesn’t look too suspicious if something  _ does _ happen to multiple people,” Kusanagi mused. “And Power Fluctuations would get Colonel Carter’s attention. Maybe… Microsoft Word not opening properly?”

“That would just give people an excuse to not submit their reports to Colonel Carter on time,” Simpson retorted. “What about an issue accessing the Wikipedition?”

John shook his head slowly. “I’m just going to pretend that you’re not discussing subverting the Colonel in front of me.”

Both ladies smiled at him brilliantly. “We have no idea what you mean, Colonel,” Kusanagi chirped.

“But if it does seem familiar, well, we learnt from the best,” Simpson finished as her smile turned sly.

John straightened, tried to immediately slouch to hide his reaction. “Now  _ I _ don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Simpson scoffed. “Please, Colonel, we might be civilians instead of military but we’re not  _ blind _ . You’ve been twitchy about every databurst and dial-in for the last two weeks.”

“It will be alright, Colonel,” Kusanagi reached out and didn’t pat him on the hand like he had assumed she’d try. She rested her hand an inch above his shoulder, just for a moment, then let it drop back to the tabletop. “Gail and I are the first ones who get our hands on the databurst. If anything comes through you need--”

“Or don’t need,” Simpson interrupted.

“--or  _ don’t _ need to know about,” Kusanagi nodded to her, “We’ll flag it for you and send it directly to your email first.”

John was struck dumb by the offer. “That’s…”

“Against regulations, but so is replacing a subque without proper authorization. Never mind a couple hundred subques.” Simpson waved him off. “Every time we have to decompress the databurst it takes a different amount of time, so if occasionally it takes… slightly longer than anticipated, it can’t be helped.”

“The SGC does like sending along triplicates of incredibly long forms sometimes….” Kusanagi mused.

Simpson winked at him. “We’ll let you know if anything comes through… or if anything happens with the subques.”

“Or anything else,” Kusanagi added. “There are many interesting things that come through the tech help system. We usually forward the really interesting or strange things to Doctor McKay or Major Lorne, but we can forward them to you, too.”

John grasped at appearing nonplussed, unsure how to take the offer. “I--”

“You’re welcome, Colonel,” Simpson told him. “Now shoo. We need to plan how to preprogram crystals.”

John tried to offer a smile. It probably came out stiff, but both Doctors returned it easily. To have such open support was something he couldn’t have imagined ten years ago, even five years ago. His next attempt at a smile went better. Kusanagi giggled. “Then I’ll see y--”

“--aaaaAAAAAHHHH!”

All three of them winced. John couldn’t tell if Parrish was getting increasingly excited or if he was managing to create his own Doppler Effect.

“...see you later. A lot later,” John finished, then scarpered off. Away from the Botany labs, because even though Carter had put him on Pegasus Switzerland Duty, John could only deal with excited Botanists for a certain number of hours a day before he had to throw in the towel. Besides, other people dealt with Parrish all the time. Surely someone else would be up for checking in on the Doctor.

In the meantime, there was an isolated balcony and a makeshift driving range to get to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the aforementioned second part that I found recently! It is even more rough than the first part, but I still had fun.
> 
> Not sure if I got O'Neill's and Landry's voices right, it's been a while since I've watched SG-1.
> 
> Skippy's List gets a name check near the end. If you're not familiar I highly encourage you to look it up. It basically amounts to a list of "What NOT to Do" and a few excellent ones have been written for Stargate Atlantis. May I recommend [Twenty-five Things Not To Do In Pegasus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/383434) by [Domenika Marzione](https://archiveofourown.org/users/domarzione/pseuds/Domenika%20Marzione)? 100000/10, highly recommended.

It turned out that Lorne ended up on Botany duty. John only found out the morning after, wandering into their joint office an hour before breakfast started and hoping to complete enough of his paperwork before anyone realized he was awake so he could disappear again in the afternoon, only to find Lorne with his feet up on the desk, bags under his eyes, and a vaguely amused twist to his groggy smile.

“Colonel,” Lorne greeted, idly flipping a page of a report.

John nodded, slumping into his own chair with a yawn. “Major.”

It was silent long enough for John to finish three reports. And then, “Colonel Carter wants you down in Botany today.”

“Here I thought I escaped,” John drawled, “What with Parrish being your favourite scientist.”

“There are three unavoidable things in life: Death, Taxes, and Botany,” Lorne quipped.

“There’s no escaping Botany.”

“No one expects Botany.”

“Except for when you keep avoiding them,” Carter’s voice came from the doorway.

Lorne struggled to his feet, lacking his usual coordination. John followed slowly, levering himself out of his chair with a put upon groan. “Colonel,” they chorused.

Carter was smiling, but she also had a datapad and some of Lorne’s file folders in her arms. “Major, you look like you’re dead on your feet.”

“I feel it,” Lorne admitted. “David was too excited and needed someone to rant at.”

“Better you than me. I can’t keep up with him even when I’m not half asleep,” John threw in.

Carter dropped the file folders on the desk between them. “Unfortunately for you, John, it’s your turn to visit Botany.”

“I was there yesterday morning!”

“And Lorne was there all night,” Carter acknowledged. “Besides, I think it might be of interest to you and at least one of your projects.” She tapped the small lump under her ear pointedly--her own subque, still DMT-made.

John made a face. “We already have enough crystals for the replacement subques.”

Carter’s smile turned sharp. “And for the next exchange of Marines and Scientists that decide to stay on? Or if, say, something happens to one and your team manages to fix it before I hear about it?”

John paused. Carter was not only giving the okay to talk new Expedition members into switching their subques, she was… giving him a way to subvert her earlier order? What?

“More control crystals are always appreciated,” Lorne said before the silence stretched too long.

John was quick to follow on his second. “Kusanagi and Simpson have been plotting ways to, uh, ‘pre-program’ grown control crystals.”

Carter nodded, looking pleased. “I look forward to what they and Botany come up with. In the meantime, John, you’ll be needed in Botany after breakfast. Evan, if you could go with him to catch the Colonel up on what Parrish told you last night before you turn in for a well-deserved rest?”

“My pleasure, ma’am,” Lorne agreed.

“And don’t forget the staff meeting at 1500,” Carter reminded them over her shoulder as she turned to walk away. “ _ All _ Senior and Command Staff, gentlemen.”

“Yes ma’am,” They chorused again before the door  _ swished _ closed.

“...Botany all night, huh?” John asked as he resumed his seat.

Lorne slumped into his own chair, the exact opposite of his usual pomp and decorum. “Pretty sure the Pegasus version of a Venus Flytrap is part-Wraith, sir. Or part-Dracula, anyway. It didn’t start moving until after midnight, and then it was after blood.”

Parrish ended up hunting them down in the mess, both Officers intentionally taking longer to get through their early breakfast than normal. It wasn’t an attempt to avoid Botany, no matter what the raised eyebrow when Carter saw them there said she thought. Simpson tended to work late hours and so got up equally late--according to the occasional rant from Rodney about needing another CompSci geek in the labs in the morning, anyway--but Kusanagi was an early riser. John was hoping to catch her before she got mired in her work, but Parrish was not willing to wait for that. 

“Colonel, please, I understand you want to speak with the math squad, but what I have to show you is incredibly important! Right, Major?”

Lorne looked like he’d rather be already asleep and not literally caught between John and Parrish, but gamely answered, “Right, David.”

They trooped down to Botany, Parrish rambling about something ahead of them and Lorne quickly trying to explain to John, “They got bored around 0330 and tried to see if they could grow crystals that can conduct electricity instead of… whatever Ancient Tech runs off of. Instead of growing crystals, the sand changed structure again. David was saying it was halfway back to normal crop-growing soil, that maybe if they electrified it again it might shift all the way back.”

“So we’re… going to watch Parrish electrocute sand?”

“Essentially, sir.”

“Huh,” John mused. “You think Pegasus Switzerland had a really bad storm lately, then?”

Lorne nodded. “If I had to guess.”

There was a small tray of the sand sample set up on the lab bench, with various tools and devices laid out neatly around it. The next bench over was still home to a variety of potted plants, some from Earth but most local species, and all of them squished together to clear enough space on the first bench for the current experiment. Doctor Glaiati, Doctor Brown’s replacement, hovered protectively over the plants nearest the sand bench, watering can in hand and looking ready to use it as a blunt weapon if anyone thought about approaching him. Or, more likely, the plants.

John nodded to him, took one of the offered pairs of safety goggles, and pointedly took up position on the opposite side of the sand bench from Glaiati. Lorne joined him as Parrish bustled around, ranting and rambling about the crystal sand.

“--and of course we need to record this--Bayek, can you take the camera? Thanks--here, give me the can--no, we’re not going to damage your plants--look, the muscle men are staying on the  _ other _ side of the table--”

John leaned towards Lorne. “Should we be offended by ‘muscle men’?”

“From David? It’s more a compliment,” Lorne admitted.

“...right.”

Glaiati grumbled at being conscripted for camera duty, but gamely exchanged the watering can with Parrish for the recording equipment. Parrish absently set it aside, already moving around the lab bench to the far end where his station was set up.

“Now, gentlemen, as I explained to Major Lorne last night--and I’m hoping he explained it so you can understand, Colonel--the sand has a strong reaction to electric charges.”

“Okay, now I think I’m offended,” John muttered. Lorne snorted.

Parrish ignored them. “Given Pegasus Switzerland’s climate and regular weather patterns, we can expect that there was probably an intense storm lately. Or not so lately, Colonel, your report said the Headman reported they’ve been having crop issues for the whole season, correct? Then maybe last year….”

“Sorry, Doc, but as much as we enjoy your hypothesizing, the Major needs his beauty sleep,” John interrupted.

Parrish scowled at him, but a glance at Lorne had him taking pity on them. “True, true--not everyone is made for all-nighters!”

“Thanks,” Lorned drawled.

Parrish slapped his protective goggles on his face, prompting the other three to do the same. “Alright! Bayek, are you ready? Don’t worry too much, we’ll have to do a proper recording later when the Colonel and Major aren’t here to distract us. For now, just point and shoot!” Glaiati obligingly aimed the camera at Parrish’s end of the lab bench and pressed the record button. “So here is test number 3 of a portion to sample PS-00018 from M93-044. Applying a direct electrical current to the crystalline particulate to determine reactivity, if any. Everyone wearing their goggles? Good! Applying 240V to sample in 3… 2… 1…”

The flash from the reaction made John wince, even with the protective goggles on. He could feel Lorne tensing beside him, just the slightest shift in stance and bearing but enough for someone long familiar with the Major to notice.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize--aaaaaAAAAHHHH WHAT?!”

When the spots in his eyes finally cleared, John blinked at Glaiati--who was scowling intensely at the lab bench. Or Parrish? After that scream, John felt like scowling, too.

But when he checked on Parrish, the Botanist was gaping at the table, suspiciously silent. Directing his gaze downwards, John found the watering can somehow knocked onto its side, which explained at least part of Glaiati’s frustrated expression, and water-plus-fertilizer slowly expanding in a circle around the can. Except for where the experiment happened. There, the water had somehow gotten into the dish.

“...oh,” Lorne breathed beside him, coming to the same realization John had.

In the dish before had been a light coloured sand, and Parrish’s experiment was supposed to turn it into something resembling proper topsoil. But there, reflecting the overhead lights into rainbows on the wall, were a handful of miniscule blue crystal spires. If John had to guess they couldn’t be more than one eighth of an inch, but compared to the nearly white sand around them they stood out brilliantly.

“...was that what you meant to do, Doc?” John genuinely asked, “Because I thought we were supposed to make the soil less crystalline, not more.”

Parrish didn’t outwardly react, remaining fixated on the table. Glaiati alternated between shooting suspicious glares at the sand crystals and venomous stares at John and Lorne. The two USAF officers exchanged quick glances before John started edging towards the door, Lorne right behind him. “So… clearly you have just made a great discovery, and we’ll just… leave you to figure it out. Let us know if you find anything else!” And they were out the door and away from Botany before Parrish could recover.

Not fast enough to avoid the screaming (of delight? Of horror? Who knew?), but it was a close thing.

“Alright, Lorne, I think you’ve suffered being awake enough for one day,” John commented to his XO as they approached the nearby transporter.

Lorne nodded. “With permission, sir?” He asked around a yawn.

John gestured grandly to the transporter. “By all means.”

As Lorne headed off, John waited for the light to clear before stepping in and hitting the control tower as his destination. Now, what to tell Colonel Carter when she inevitably found out he wasn’t in Botany….

* * *

Umyana--both country and planet, in as much as they existed--was one of the very few examples the Expedition had found of Ancient Interference Gone Right. Maybe because it was interference of the absolutely minimal, just-enough-to-count variety, but, like the children of M7G-677, all that had been left behind for the populace was a shield. Unlike Planet Child, the people of Umyana employed an Apprentice-Journeyman-Master system that meant ¾ of their population was actually on other worlds at any given time. It was a safety risk, especially in recent years, but the Umyana saw it as a chance to forge bonds that would exist beyond death.

They never actually said, “In case of Ascension,” but the murals and local legends heavily implied it.

Once every Umyanan year (just short of 3 Earth years, by Science’s calculations) they held a large festival that was partially to bring all the scattered Umyanan peoples, called Wanderers, back together to renew family and clan ties, and partially as a large-scale exam period-slash-dissertation defence in order to determine who was ready to be promoted in rank or sent somewhere else to further develop their skills.

(Not long after the fall of the Genii’s original empire, they had sought to rebuild by trying to force some Wanderers to work for them. The Umyana responded by pulling all their people back from their Wandering and, as far as the Genii knew, they had never left their shielded planet again. The Expedition knew differently only because of a lucky hit in the database that AR-4 happened to stumble upon that led to the Khagari and specific mention of one particular town that hosted Wanderers. AR-4 had thought it meant, ‘Possible Alpha Site’, or at least emergency evacuation point.)

But high-tech advancement brought the Wraith down upon peoples, so instead of working to  _ advance _ , the people of Umyana worked at perfecting what they already had. No industrial revolution, but a tradition of hand-crafts that would make renplayers on Earth weep with envy.

“Or so is the report from Anthropology,” Carter surmised, putting down the datapad and eyeing the crowd around the conference table. Anthropology themselves weren’t there, but a various cross-section of the other Science departments, Medical and Military were. Zelenka and Keller had taken the seats on either side of Carter, and John had ended up slouched against the wall just beside one of the screens. The plan was for the so-called mission to be purely cultural and with as little chance of violence as was possible in Pegasus; John was happy to let it be so.

Anthropology only wasn't present because they--or Doctors Kim, Lasalle, and Zhang--were preparing to accompany the upcoming mission. A mission that would be launching at 0-dark-thirty, because that was about noon for Umyana, so this early afternoon breakout was the last pre-mission briefing anyone would be getting. A late lunch, asking Atlantis to simulate nighttime in their individual quarters for an attempt at a proper rest, and then up at 2700 for last minute preparations.

Carter, unsurprisingly, looked in her element. She sat at the head of the vaguely triangular but mostly hexagonal arrangement of tables and chairs as the Expedition Leader, but the gleam in her eyes was one John was well familiar with. Preparing for a mission, especially one that wasn’t all shoot-em-up, take-em-out? It might not be a physical adrenaline rush, but it was  _ something _ . Carter had been on a field team for eight years straight, spent a few months doing nothing but research, and then jumped at the chance to rejoin SG-1 after Mitchell became leader, and if that didn’t say  _ adrenaline junkie _ , then her service record and flying skills definitely did.

To go from that, to sitting behind a desk nearly all day? Elizabeth hadn’t even managed that well, and she was a diplomat.

“Anything else we need to be aware of?” Carter asked, looking around. “Any news from our advance team?”

“Stackhouse reported nothing out of the ordinary,” Lorne offered, flipping through his notes on the latest transmission, only half an hour old. Since both Carter and John would be gone for a few days, Lorne would have to take over for both of them. It wasn’t the best solution, and AR-1 being tapped for security duty wasn’t a smart decision when it came down to it, but Carter had--apparently--requested them and Lorne had--also apparently--approved it without checking with John first, so there was only so much he could argue about it.

Besides, Lorne practically ran the Marines, if through the Captains. John forced himself to look at this situation as training for one of the worst potentialities. Besides, Atlantis and Lorne needed some time without John there  _ and _ without constant ATA demands to distract them. John was her favourite, but he needed to be sure that she’d accept Lorne as readily as she did himself.

“Everyone is returning and meeting up with family, and no one has come through the ‘Gate that wasn’t cleared beforehand,” Lorne continued. “The festival is on track to start on time, and we’ve confirmed that 0-dark-30 will get you there before the fireworks begin.”

Carter nodded, making mental notes of her own. “Excellent. Shall we go over security details, then? Colonel Sheppard?”

The meeting didn’t go on for much longer, just a quick review of what everyone had already read in the pre-mission-pre-meeting review packages, and then they broke for food and rest. Teyla, her belly showing ever more and increasingly careful about the baby bump, levered herself carefully out of her seat to walk with Carter back towards the control room. John bit his lip watching them, fighting down the worry. Umyana was protected, they had a shield, Rodney had confirmed months--years--ago that the ZPM still had more than enough of a charge to maintain it for a long while yet….

But there was  _ still _ a part of him that didn’t want Teyla anywhere near danger.

“Can’t protect everyone all the time, sir,” Lorne mused from where he was suddenly at John’s side, following his CO’s gaze easily. “Especially when they don’t need protecting.”

“You’re just sore she kicked your ass last week,” John smirked at him.

Lorne shrugged easily. “Teyla’s always been able to kick my ass. Her being pregnant doesn’t make her less deadly. I think it makes her more.”

Which was a very astute observation. Also, John was pretty sure there were many ( _ many _ ) sayings about  _ women scorned _ and  _ lioness protecting her cubs _ , and those existed for a reason. Probably. “So… no more baiting Teyla?”

“Not if you want to keep all your limbs, sir.”

“Colonel Sheppard,” Carter’s voice echoed across the vaulted ‘Gate room. John looked over; she and Teyla were standing just before the bridge to her office, Teyla as serene as ever and Carter with a datapad cradled in her arms.

John nodded to show he heard and understood the implied summons, patted Lorne on the shoulder for a dismissal, and trotted over. “Colonel?”

“Before we break, I wanted to talk to you about something. Join me?” She gestured to the bridge, already taking a step in that direction. “Teyla, you’re welcome to join us, too, of course.”

“Thank you, Colonel Carter, but I believe I need to take some time to get off my feet before we depart,” Teyla demured.

John gestured for a nearby tech to bring a chair over. Teyla and Carter both rolled their eyes at him, at each other, at the slightly panicky Marine who gave up looking for a chair and instead wheeled over his own. “Okay, just, rest here,” John instructed--asked, it  _ was _ Teyla after all--“and when the Colonel and I are done we’ll walk down to the commissary.”

Teyla huffed a sigh but obliged, easing onto the chair. “I only do this so I am better rested to chase after  _ you _ tomorrow when you get yourself in trouble.”

“Hey, we’re not  _ that _ bad,” he refuted, would-be offended.

Carter shook her head at them. “I hate to say it, John, but your team is almost as bad as SG-1 when it comes to finding trouble.”

He smirked at her. “So with all of us as your security detail, does that mean that we should head out loaded for bear?”

Teyla sighed at him, gesturing towards Carter’s office. “I believe that is a conversation best had in a more formal setting? Since we have already spent the last few days preparing, assuming it would be us going, John.”

“Alright, alright, no more trying to get out of babysitting--I mean, honour guarding.”

Carter laughed at that--best CO  _ ever _ \--and preceded him across the bridge to her office. “I’m going to assume that your team is still good to babysit?”

John shrugged idly, waiting until she sat behind her desk before he slumped into the guest chair. “As long as I can have an extra few minutes to go over emergency and SERE operations with Lorne ahead of time.”

“I believe that counts as  _ borrowing trouble _ ,” Carter mused.

“It’s either that or wave this off as  _ of course it won’t happen _ and then jinx it.”

“We believe in jinxes now?”

He spread his hands before his chest, would-be careless. “Knowing some of the things that happen out here? Better to cover all our bases.”

She connected her datapad to a regular keyboard, typing while still maintaining eye contact with him. He appreciated that multitasking until he realized she was waiting for him to acknowledge her skeptical expression--one raised eyebrow, quirked lips, definite humour to her expression. “It’s a good thing there’s no black cats around then, isn’t there?”

“Life Sciences is working on crossbreeding a new feline species… I hear they want it to be black.”

That made her pause. “Really?”

“Nope,” John returned. “But if they know about this conversation they  _ will _ be.”

“Better keep this to ourselves then,” she rejoined. And then swung around the makeshift laptop so that John could see the screen. Could see the schematics of something-or-other that looked familiar but also raised the question of  _ why _ . “This is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

He stared at the screen a bit longer, trying to work out what  _ exactly _ she meant. “I kind of expected more from the great Sam Carter than… dog tags.”

“Not just dog tags,” she corrected, reaching over to hit an arrow on the keyboard. The infographic changed to a page of schematics. Front and center was a diagram, the particular rubber they used around the edge of the tags removed but noted and the sliver of flattened metal carefully marked up. Except--

“It’s thicker,” John noted, glancing up to get permission before pulling the laptop closer to him across the desk. “Not by much, but--”

“Just enough for a skilled smith to manage two separate layers,” Carter finished.

John shot her a look, and she gestured to the laptop. He turned back, looking it over again. “Two layers? Wait… a  _ skilled _ smith?”

“We can’t exactly mass-produce this, not with these modifications, and where better to get custom metalwork done in Pegasus than Umyana?” she grinned when he looked up again. “And since we’ll be spending a whole festival period with them, when all their best artisans are back home….”

He snorted--couldn’t help it, even though he  _ did _ try to smother it down--and raised a pointed eyebrow. “Why, Colonel, it seems you’re proposing a modification to an official piece of identifying material. It’s almost… suspiciously cavalier of you.” Nevermind  _ why _ she was planning on modifying dog tags. All tags? One set of tags?  _ Her _ tags?

Carter laughed outright, reaching around to hit the arrow key again. “Well, I thought, when in Rome! ...and besides, if I’m being honest, this is… milder than most rule-breaking SG-1 has done through the years,” she finished with a slight grimace, but her eyes still sparkled and the corners of her lips still twitched upwards.

John laughed, too. Impish? That was the word. SG-1 was maybe infamous for their chaos-causing ways, but in the reports--the closest that John had really gotten to seeing the premiere team in their heyday, considering the whole team had been some degree of MIA and/or on a mission when the Expedition had been kicked out of the City--it was always framed as  _ necessity _ . As, “We Wouldn’t Have Done It This Way If There Had Been Another Way (see Appendices F through J for details on why)”. Obviously it had been skewed, but there had been such a serious tone of  _ regret _ and  _ whoops _ and  _ we will never do this again we promise (unless we absolutely need to) _ that he’d genuinely thought that, maybe, SG-1 were just as straightlaced as the reports painted them.

Seeing Samantha Carter, the single longest serving member of SG-1, actually  _ laughing _ about breaking rules? Rules that weren’t just for the Stargate Program, but the collective armed forces? Sure, the general attitude was more like a child trying to convince another child to help them steal cookies from the cookie jar than outright flagrancy, but it was still a shock. A  _ momentary _ shock.

Suiting action to thought, he forced his surprise down and, still chuckling with her, focused back on what was now on screen. This image was a proper exploded diagram, showing the double layer of metal and between them a thin piece of  _ something _ . He read the notes for the  _ something _ , paused, and read them again. “Does that say--”

“Flattened crystal,” Carter quickly filled in. He glanced up shortly, then back down to the diagram. If she had been standing, he’d put money on her bouncing on her toes. “I’ve been considering your new subques, and as interesting as it is, I can’t assume that I’ll always be here.”

He took a minute to read between the lines: “So you’re not going to get one.”

“No,” she confirmed, still almost-bouncing, “But I’ve come up with this for the ATA side of things, instead. What else will we always have on us aside from tags? So I’ve talked to Doctor Parish, and to Doctors Kusanagi and Simpson, and we’ve managed to create a tentative example of a flattened crystal that  _ should _ work like the crystal component in your homebrew subcutaneous transmitters.” And she pulled a small case from her pocket. It looked like a ring box, possibly slightly larger, with the logo of a jewelry company that definitely didn’t have an outlet in Atlantis. “Miko and Gail are pretty sure they managed to grow this as a blank, instead of with a program. Do you think it will be possible to initialize it if it’s blank?”

John was pretty sure his expression was as blank as the crystal shard she presented to him. He knew his  _ brain _ definitely was. “Uh.  _ Can _ it be initialized if it’s… blank?”

Carter shrugged, wiggling the box at him. “Doesn’t hurt to try, right?”

Theoretically, the Alterans didn’t just  _ grow _ all the control crystals they used. They must have had some way to rewrite or reprogram some crystals, especially when a system was damaged and moving a crystal from, say, air deodorizing to life support was necessary to keep the ship-or-whatever from exploding. Or imploding. Or just shutting down and drifting idly forever, the crew left to waste away--

\--or maybe not, because the crew of the Aurora certainly didn’t try anything like this. But that was two years ago, and John remembered a lot about that particular mission but not the exact details of why the crew couldn’t make it home. McKay might not have even had the chance to do a thorough investigation. Or maybe he did, while John was in the VR simulation, and it just never made it into a report that John had read. With McKay still Earthside, the next likely person to know would be… Lorne. Of course.  _ Note to self, bother Lorne before bed _ .

Meanwhile, there was a crystal to have a staredown with.

“Look--Colonel--”

“Just think _ on _ ,” she coached. Paused. “...gently.”

That startled another laugh out of him. “No clubbing ATA people over the head with how  _ on _ it is?”

“ATA tech isn’t always the most subtle thing, no,” she agreed. “So let’s try to keep this quiet. Quieter.”

No programming meant nothing to trigger. No booby traps (not that those were common, not with crystal-based equipment that could be damaged by an enthusiastic infant), but it also meant no underlying guidance for the crystal to know--or react to--the difference between  _ on _ and  _ off _ .

John sighed, holding the shard gently between his thumb and forefinger. It was definitely on the thin side, to the point he was almost afraid to break it. Definitely afraid to close his fingers around it. So--

He placed the crystal gently on one palm, then laid his other hand over it. Folding his fingers together as if in prayer John slowly increased the pressure to keep the crystal in place, then brought his clasped hands up to rest against his forehead. He dimly was aware of Carter making a noise--laughter? A snort? Simply breathing?--but focused on that fragile shard trapped against his palms.

No, not a shard, a sheet. Like a sheet of paper, something blank to be engraved or written upon, much like a blank identification tag. And that was what he wanted, here. What Carter wanted, since she designed a tag to include the crystal. Identification. Acknowledgment.

_ Samantha Carter _ , he thought, focused on her. No rank or title, because one was fluid--and if she didn’t end up as a General sooner or later, he’d give up his own commission--and the other was a potential security risk. Doctor meant knowledgeable meant a target, and that wasn’t acceptable, not for his Commanding Officer, even if she wasn’t officially part of the chain of command. He was the Military leader; she was head of the Expedition; Carter just  _ happened _ to have a military rank, like John did at the beginning before Colonel Sumner… anyway. Focus.

_ Samantha Carter _ , he repeated again.  _ Expedition Leader. SG-1. Home: Earth. _ Because no matter how  _ good _ she was for the Expedition, for the Program, that would always be her home. She had too many people back there, important people, and other ties that would never let her consider anywhere else as home. But for as long as she was here, as long as she was one of them, she would be treated as their own. Earth Ambassador, he laughed in the corner of his mind, and felt it echo ever so slightly from the crystal in his hands.

_ Samantha Carter. Expedition Leader. SG-1. Home: Earth. Terra. Home: Terra. Earth Ambassador _ . He fought the urge to smirk, not that she’d see it with his hands blocking his face. Carter had said when in Rome, of course. If Atlantis was Rome, and the Alterans called Earth Terra… why not? But Terrans called the planet Earth, so the Ambassador reference was staying as-is.

_ On _ , he insisted at it,  _ Gently. Subtly. On. Slow, low. On. Samantha Carter. Expedition Leader. SG-1. Home: Terra. Earth Ambassador. On. Location. Identify. Just us. Frequency _ …. It took a minute to remember what Zelenka, Engineering and Operations decided upon, but he held that in the back of his mind as he thought at it. The crystal warmed slightly, but that was probably just the heat from his hands being absorbed by it.

_ On. Samantha Carter. Gently on. Expedition Leader. On. SG-1. Home: Terra _ ….

Abruptly came the singing sensation of  _ acknowledgment _ from the crystal, just the same as all the others they’d initialized. John pulled his hands away to open them, staring at the sheet that had spontaneously gained a cool, sea blue tinge while it’d been in his grasp.

He looked up; it took a minute for his eyes to focus, but once they met Carter’s he found his surprise reflecting back at him. “Huh…” He managed, a soft, fuzzy feeling at the back of his head causing him to pause.

Carter looked back down at the crystal, reaching out tentative fingers to rest on the closest edge of it. “...huh,” she agreed.

* * *

Five days on Umyana under a shield and doing nothing more than bodyguarding should have been relaxing. Considering the walls of Carter’s office were mostly glass, Teyla (and most people in the control room) had seen what John had done with the crystal sheet. By the time the three of them made it to the commissary for an early dinner the rumour mill had done its job, and Ronon plopped his overfull try down on their table with a mumbled greeting and, “I want a crystal in my hair.”

“...right,” John agreed, sharing a bemused look with Teyla and Carter. “Any particular size, shape, or colour?”

“No,” Ronon grunted, digging in.

So with another initiated shard of crystal tucked somewhere amongst Ronon’s locks (probably the same hammer space he kept all his knives), and Carter’s initiated crystal sheet safely in its box and ready to go, AR-1 plus Colonel Carter minus McKay departed for Umyana with a crystal apiece and plans for an unofficial vacation at hand.

The beginning of the festival was much like every other festival, harvest or otherwise, in Pegasus. Food, drinks, song and dance, lots of large fire pits with very little to protect inebriated dancers from stumbling into them… and an easy, relaxed atmosphere that was belayed by the sheer number of people--not just the Expedition and AR-1--carrying various weapons on them.

Could never be too careful in Pegasus.

Day two was where things differed. The Wanderers that returned to see family spent the day with them, and the ones who returned for their version of exams spent much of the day doing that. It meant, in turn, that the guests were left to entertain themselves. Some of the others (few as they were) lounged around in the various courtyards and plazas, in shade and sun alike. Some had brought crafts to work on, projects to complete, bantos rods and staffs to practice and refine their forms.

AR-1 had brought snacks, bantos rods, extra pillows for Teyla, and books. Ronon joined those sparring, while Teyla either sat with Carter and talked quietly or wandered amongst the other guests and chatted with them. A number of locals and guests alike were taken with her, not just because of her general amiability or diplomacy, but because of her baby bump. John found himself exchanging endless amused looks with his team and Carter. Of course life was sacred, but the  _ extent _ to which people were deferring to Teyla and lauding her… in a galaxy where tomorrow was never guaranteed and an entire people wiped out between one heartbeat and the next, of course it was something to be celebrated.

Of course, the Athosians once had an extensive trade network that they had brought the Expedition into and had been working on rebuilding and expanding when they’d disappeared. What had happened was probably first and foremost on Pegasus’ rumour mills and bulletin boards, so to see that not only had  _ someone _ survived but that there would be another Athosian born in the next few months was encouraging to old friends and allies. Or so John presumed, based on most people’s reactions to her.

Meanwhile, John had brought  _ War and Peace _ , unsure of how much downtime they’d actually have and not quite willing to spend the whole time getting beat up by Ronon (or Teyla), and a datapad with one of Zelenka’s latest equations regarding Puddlejumper propulsion. (And maybe a golf game, but he wasn’t about to admit to that.) Carter had, of course, her own datapad and own set of various science-related texts, but so far had spent more time talking with guests and the few Umyanan hosts still with them instead of with family or in exams.

She’d disappeared early the morning of the second day (while John and Ronon were nursing not-quite-hangovers -- it turned out that crystal pieces helped ATA people focus, but did nothing for alcohol tolerance). When she’d returned she’d had one less dog tag, one less crystal, and one less printed out report on the different kinds of metalwork and smelting from various peoples on Earth (or “old trade contacts of the Expedition, who are no longer available for trade”).

“They said it will be ready by the end of the week,” Carter reported, taking the pillow around the low table between Teyla and Ronon they’d intentionally left open for her. “And they appreciate the history of Ear--of smithing.” She winced slightly at the near-mistake, and while she still sat uncomfortably at the ever-present lie she had, in a not-quite throw down argument with the rest of the Command staff, had agreed to the necessity.

“That’s good,” John acknowledged, nursing the mug of what the locals swore was a hangover cure but tasted more like an entire field of spearmint distilled to its pure essence and shoved into a cup. If nothing else, his breath was going to smell wonderful.

Ronon downed the rest of his own mug of Intense Mint™. “If it works, maybe I’ll get one.”

“Crystals in your hair not your style?” Carter quipped, reaching for the pitcher of a local juice (citrus-esque, of course, something that had even Teyla laughing at the situation).

Ronon shrugged, nudged his now-empty mug away, and leaned back to recline on one elbow. “The tags look cool.”

_ Better than a tracker under the skin _ , John heard instead.

“We’ll see after they finish with these tags,” Carter negotiated, thinking it through. “We’ll need to come up with something else to trade for the work, though.”

“Coffee,” Ronon suggested.

Carter made a face that only a scientist who’d experienced days--or weeks--of high-pressured sleeplessness could make.

“We’ll figure something out,” she finally managed. “In the meantime, I hear there’s an exam this afternoon that is the Umyana version of interpretive dance.”

John raised an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t think you’d be into the… interpretive dance kind of study.”

“Dancing, especially those dances that tell a story of a people, is much valued by all cultures,” Teyla remarked, would-be casually. “Perhaps the style of dance is not entertaining, but the stories the dancers tell can serve as both warning and guide for the future.”

Carter clearly agreed, though she did add, “I’m just so used to Daniel insisting on participating in these kinds of things that it feels… weird. Not to.”

* * *

The tag was ready two days later, and after confirming that yes, the crystal still  _ felt _ in one piece and that yes, even though the embossed characters were hand-crafted they were close enough to Courier to pass muster, talk turned to creating a tag for Ronon.

“You do not have a… tag?” The Mastersmith (or the Umyana equivalent) asked. “Then what words must be existing?”

Carter was still examining her new tag, pulling the original rubber silencer away from the edges of the new metal to check the quality again. Teyla was standing beside her, both of them making a point to remark on the rounded edges, welded and buffed smooth to hide the seam between the two halves. One of the journeywomen nearby preened.

Ronon grunted at the question, turning to look at John. John shrugged. Arguably, they should have gotten him some identification tags or  _ something _ years ago, but between his reticence about sharing details of Sateda and his aversion to even considering another tracker being inserted under his skin, no one had considered pushing it further. Not that SGC really insisted on their alien allies getting identification tags. It’d taken Teal’c  _ years _ to build up enough trust with the US government to get enough identification to get a bank account and credit card, let alone rent an apartment and start to develop a life off base. In comparison to that, Ronon getting a tag now was practically warp speed in comparison.

“His name, to start,” John started listing off. “Rank--from Sateda?” Ronon shrugged, but that was less  _ I don’t care _ and more  _ I care but I don’t want to look like I do _ . “So D-E-X--let me just write it out, hold on.”

One of the apprentices handed over a clay slab and chalk, and John hitched his hip up against a mostly cleared workbench nearby. Ronon stalked over, leaning over one of John’s shoulders to see what he was writing. Definitely inside John’s personal bubble, but when it came to his team he didn’t really have a bubble.

The Mastersmith leaned against the table beside John, also looking over his shoulder. A stranger? Much less comfortable.

But this was a diplomatic mission and the Mastersmith wasn’t part of the Expedition, so John couldn’t get away with glaring at him to back off. Meanwhile, tags.

D-E-X, all in capital letters, written as close to Courier as possible. R-O-N-O-N. No middle initial. No DOD or Social Security Number, either. “Colonel?” John asked, peering down at the next line. “What should go in place of an SSN?”

She frowned, pausing in her praise. “Well… obviously you’re part of the Military contingent, and there are unique IDs for everyone in that branch. Would that work?”

“Except Ronon and I are officially part of the Administrators and Specialists,” Teyla remarked, “And I do not think we have unique IDs as such.”

Carter raised an eyebrow.

“Red Patch BDUs,” John commented.

She rolled her eyes. “Not my question, Colonel.”

He grinned back, still doing his best to ignore the Mastersmith still leaning into his personal space. “Just wanted to be one-hundred-percent clear, Colonel.”

Now it was the Mastersmith making faces. “You are very confusing people.”

Ronon snorted. Teyla grinned beatifically. “They are very interesting people to live with.”

In the end they decided on A-T-L-T-S-A-R-0-1-5 (forever saving A-R-0-1-4 for Ford, John and Teyla even now refusing to give up on him). AB POS. Religion had been another sticking point, with Ronon tempted to just put NO PREFERENCE and call it done. But Teyla had argued that there were still enough left who knew of Sateda and Satedan customs that, when it came time for final rites, they could put together something close to a traditional Satedan funeral. If he wanted it, of course.

After a minute of thinking, Ronon nodded shortly.

The Mastersmith took samples of the Courier characters that hadn’t been on Carter’s, waved off their attempts to open negotiations for payment, and waved them away.

“Hungry?” Ronon asked.

John nodded. “Starving.”

“Always,” Teyla sighed at them.

Carter agreed. “I could definitely eat.”

* * *

The payment for the Mastersmith was, as far as John was concerned, a dog-and-pony show. (He’d been to a few  _ actual _ dog-and-pony shows, and had never really considered being on the other side of the gawkers.) Lorne sent Parrish and Keller through the ‘Gate with AR-2 as escorts, the two of them carting the crystal sand between them. Neither Kusanagi nor Simpson had ever tried to do the tests necessary for off-world travel, but according to Stackhouse they definitely  _ wanted _ to, now. Parrish, AR-3’s occasional Team Geek, and Keller, as Head of Medical, both were certified and had experience, if negative, and so were greenlit with little trouble.

Parrish performed his whole “The SAND is CRYSTALS!” schtick that at least served to amuse the gathered locals, while Keller carefully deposited a padded jewelry box in Ronon’s hands. “Special delivery,” she joked, taking a moment to stretch afterwards. “Atlantis is beautiful, but there’s nothing like sun and the smell of pine trees.”

“British Columbia, everywhere,” Carter agreed, turning her own face upwards.

Ronon opened the box, eyeing the crystal sheet inside. John nudged him gently. “Hey, the good doctors whipped this up for you, custom made.”

“They’re fast,” Ronon commented, picking up the crystal by one corner. It was impossibly tiny compared to the giant of a man it was for.

Teyla rested her hand on the arm holding the box, careful not to jostle him. “You should try and pick up something nice while we’re here, to say thank you.”

He nodded, then looked up at John. “Thank you.”

John gently took the crystal from his hand, already folding both hands around it like he’d done for Carter’s. “No problem, buddy. Just give me a minute here, yeah?”

John stepped away, finding a quiet(er) corner of the courtyard outside the main Smith Hall to slump down onto the ground. It’d been weird, initiating the first crystal sheet, and mostly he hadn’t thought it would actually work. It had, and now there was an  _ expectation _ . It’d been done once so it could be done again, and he knew that Science was already trying to figure out the  _ how _ and  _ why _ .

But he didn’t have their current insights or suggestions, and only a vaguely fuzzy memory of what he’d done before.

This corner was away from doors and windows and people, a few small plants in terracotta pots lining one of the walls his only company. He could see Teyla making a point to grab the attention of as many smiths--apprentice, journeyperson, and masters alike--and mentally made a note to thank  _ her _ , as well.

He crossed his legs and closed his eyes, leaning back against the non-plant wall. Cool brick and cool shade and the summer sweet scent of grasses and herbs and  _ life _ , and he could see why the Wanderers were always happy to return home.

That wasn’t what he wanted to focus on, though.

Crystal held tightly, securely, but not  _ too _ tight between his palms. Fingers folded together to keep his hands locked. Forehead resting against hands; elbows balanced on his inner calves (kees would be too far spread apart at this point); a deep breath to center himself, finally put to practice the meditation Teyla had taught--tried to teach--him.

_Ronon Dex_ , he began, focusing on the crystal, on the low rumble of Ronon’s voice in the distance. _On._ _Satedan. Gently on. Warrior. On. AR-1. Gently on. Home_ …. Home, probably, would always be Sateda. At least to some degree. And Ronon would always _be_ Satedan, no matter where he went. But was that enough for John to call it home on his behalf? If someone magically figured out a way to read or scan or _whatever_ he was thinking at the crystal as a means of finding people who knew and cared about Ronon, Sateda would have nothing but ashes and ghosts. He considered it, again, and then winced at himself. Nothing for it, John supposed.

_ Home: Atlantis _ .

When he felt the crystal come to life between his palms, John let his shoulders slump, tension bleeding out of it. It worked (of course it worked), but the fuzziness he thought he’d gotten over had returned. From thinking too hard? If he found out, Rodney would never let him hear the end of it. “Brain strain,” he laughed at himself, lowering his hands to rest in his lap. His neck twinged. “Ow.”

“You are done?”

His eyes flew open and his head jerked upright. The Mastersmith was  _ right there _ , sitting cross legged directly before him (although he’d taken the time to grab a pillow, first). Teyla, Ronon, Carter, and the rest of the Expedition currently present part of a larger group behind him. John blanched--yep, a definite dog-and-pony show, though why  _ he _ was the dog he didn’t know.

Parrish looked excited, though. A quiet part in the back of John’s mind commented,  _ At least the pony is having a good time _ .

The Mastersmith was still waiting for an answer, though, so John forced his frazzled mind to focus on that and not  _ How long were they all standing around looking at me? _ “Yeah.” He held up the crystal--orange-red instead of clear, catching the sun and sending warm coloured light defracting all over the otherwise shadowed corner.

The Mastersmith blinked at that, mouth falling slightly open.

Ronon stepped forward, crouching down beside John to look at the crystal sheet. “...it’s good?”

“It’s good,” John agreed, waiting for Ronon to open his palm before gently depositing the sheet onto warm skin. “But if I don’t stand up soon,  _ I’m _ not going to be good.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Keller quipped. “Because then it will be an infirmary visit for you.”

John waited until he was back on his feet to clutch dramatically at his chest. “Not the infirmary!”

“We don’t want you there, either, Colonel,” she warmly informed him.

Ronon, meanwhile, spent another minute examining the crystal-- _ his _ crystal--before handing it over to the Mastersmith. And then, after a moment of thought, plucked the crystal shard out of his hair and handed that over, too. “S’not as pretty,” he remarked, “But it’s still a good crystal.”

“That it is,” the Mastersmith agreed. He nodded once to Ronon--then to John--then called his people together to head back into the forge.

The rest of the Expedition moved further into the shaded corner, Carter and Teyla at the head. “If nothing else, you’ve given him something to think about, John.”

“What? How I get dizzy while sitting?”

“Transmutation,” she quipped.

“No,” John refuted. “Nope. No way. We’re not going that route.”

“Not even for another pitcher of that mint drink?”

“ _ Especially _ not for that.”

* * *

AR-2 stayed for the rest of the festival, and then agreed to stay on afterwards to help with cleanup and moving the various Wanderers to their new planets and locations. If that meant maybe meeting new people and potential trading contacts and/or gathering more information about the Genii, the Wraith, the missing Athosians, all the better.

John, Teyla, and Ronon escorted Carter back to Atlantis, stepping through the gate to the familiar copper-teal aesthetic of the City. While they all relaxed at being somewhere  _ safe _ (somewhere, John quietly hopped, they could all call  _ home _ ), he couldn’t help the sigh of relief. The feeling of the crystal helped, echoed the quiet reassurance of the City and a reminder of  _ this is right _ and  _ this is good _ . But it was nothing in comparison to Atlantis herself.

“Glad to be back, Colonel?” Carter asked, grinning at his expression.

“Just realized we still have to do our post-op,” he replied.

“Is it weird to you that you still need to have a physical even though your mission didn’t go completely FUBAR?” Lorne’s voice echoed down from the control room above.

They looked up, grinning widely. “It sounds like you were hoping things would go wrong, Major,” John returned with a faint laugh.

Lorne shook his head at them. “No, sir. But I think Lieutenant Forbes just lost a lot of money in the betting pool.”

“I think we need to head to the infirmary immediately,” Carter cut in, sloughing off her TAC vest. “I’ve suddenly lost the ability to hear anything you are saying.”

Fortunately, the infirmary had been alerted and was waiting for them.

Unfortunately, it was already full of other patients.

“...Lorne  _ would _ have informed us if something happened,” Carter stated. Tried to state. It definitely sounded more like a question, though, even if she was trying to reassure herself that yes, Military’s XO would have reported mass casualties.

And if it sounded like a question, John felt honour bound to answer it. For Lorne’s honour, if nothing else. “He would have… probably,” John tempered. Carter glanced over to him, eyebrow raised. “Foothold,” he shrugged casually.

Carter’s face pinched. John didn’t feel the urge to report that it  _ wasn’t _ a foothold because Atlantis was still singing in his head, and everything was the same as it had been when they’d left a week ago. Aside from a few new notes and references to Lorne (which, yes, was exactly what he’d been hoping for, nevermind the slight pang of jealousy it caused).

“There’s no foothold here,” Keller reported, doding patients in beds and wheelchairs and propped against walls, all with different degrees of injuries. “Just some very overzealous scientists wanting to have something fun to show the parents when they returned.”

“...parents?” There’d been jokes about Elizabeth being Team Mom for the Expedition (and fewer, but still  _ some _ , about John being Team Dad), but he hadn’t heard such a reference to Carter. Yet.

Keller led them to a mostly empty corner, waving one of the nurses over with the necessary equipment for their post-ops. “Fine. Dad and long-suffering Aunt.”

“I don’t think I’ve been here long enough to be ‘long-suffering’,” Carter said. “Although depending on  _ why _ Science felt a need to impress us, I’m wondering if I’m about to get to that point.”

“Well, that… might be our fault,” Keller admitted, patting the one bed in their corner. Teyla was the first to hop up, stripping off her uniform jacket in the process. “Indirectly, at least. When Doctor Parrish and I returned, we made our reports and it… got around.”

“Around?” Teyla asked.

“It?” John echoed.

“My report was short, on account of none of  _ you _ getting attacked or injured,” Keller ruefully admitted, “But Doctor Parrish had a few more things to say, between his demonstration and what the Mastersmith accomplished with the flat crystals--”

“Sheets,” John butted in, because he wasn’t about to let something else get a ridiculous name. He’d just barely managed to keep the poor Jumpers from an unfortunate fate, he wasn’t about to let this one go. “Crystal sheets.”

Carter leaned against the wall beside Ronon, arms crossed. “Sheets, Colonel?”

“Like a blank paper,” he repeated his thoughts from earlier, “Because the crystals are blank.”

“And can be written on,” Carter finished, nodding. “Not the worst name I’ve heard.”

Keller finished up with Teyla, helped her to a nearby chair, and waved Ronon over. “As I was  _ saying _ , Colonel Carter’s new dog tag with the  _ crystal sheet _ made it into the report. Between the tag, the subques, and you hiding that one sliver of crystal in your hair,” she poked Ronon in his shoulder, “It’s given the scientists  _ ideas _ about what things they should try and graft crystals onto.”

Oh no, John realized with a sinking realization. More ATA experiments, no Rodney. He was going to get  _ lynched _ when the missing member of his Team returned to Atlantis.

“Oh no,” Carter said. “And I’m saying that as a scientist myself.”

* * *

Lorne shed a bit more light on the situation. After informing them that yes, grafting crystals onto anything and everything was officially on Skippy’s List and safety measures were already being drawn up by Zelenka to be ratified by Carter and McKay, once the Canadian got back. Which, now that everyone was thinking about it, should really be any day now.

A large part of the problem seemed to be scientists taking any piece of crystal, regardless of active/inactive/active  _ and _ still having its previous programming and instructions, and sticking those crystals onto anything they thought might be better if it was enhanced. Sometimes it resulted in what the individual was looking for, but most of the time it didn’t work at all. What had prompted both the entry on Skippy’s List and the swarm at Medical was the few times it worked in the worst way possible. One of the engineers had taken a shard that no one knew the providence of and inserted it into the circuitry for one of the EOD robots.

“At least it was that and not a MALP.”

John shook his head slightly at Carter’s relief. “Please tell me it wasn’t one of the custom EODs?”

“Thankfully no,” Lorne agreed. “It was one of the two new ones that came with  _ Daedalus _ last supply run. It was in the process of being fitted out for the Vault, and Doctor Kasslemaen decided it wouldn’t hurt to add a crystal to it, being non-organic.”

Carter frowned, leaning back in the seat she’d taken in Lorne and John’s office. “I thought the point of the Vault was to limit contamination to prevent… well, this.”

Or so was the official by-line, anyway. The Vault itself was a result of lengthy negotiations between Science--who never liked to let potential avenues of study or research or development pass them by--and Military who, as John could personally attest, looked at potential threats and collectively decided the best option was  _ Kill It With Fire _ .

McKay had argued that if they destroyed everything in these  _ particular _ rooms, then they couldn’t study those things. And it was possible there were more of these things--a many and varied collection, a fair number of which the Expedition themselves had relocated to this suite of former labs--out  _ there _ . If a Team ran into one of these  _ things _ out there they’d have no idea how to identify it or handle themselves if Science didn’t have the opportunity to study them, create a reference point or cheat sheet for everyone.

Which was incredibly self-serving but also a genuine attempt to limit casualties, so John and Elizabeth had agreed, but only if procedures were put in place.

Officially, the Vault contained items that were some degree of unstable but  _ could _ be worked with in particular conditions, so they were kept safely away from everyone and everything else with security protocols in place that John wished they’d had for the naquadah generators during the Genii invasion in the first year.

Unofficially, the Vault was ATA Labs-4 (rooms one through infinity). If ATA Labs-1 (rooms one through eighteen) was designated as “Safe for everyone,” ATA Labs-2 (rooms one through eleven) as “Safe for ATA personnel only,” and ATA Labs-3 (rooms one through seven) were “Safe for everyone  _ except _ ATA personnel,” then Labs-4, AKA the Vault, was “Safe for absolutely no one; no lifeforms (Including the Ascended) permitted in this area”. One tower over and three floors above was another lab that had been repurposed as a control room, from where the scientists used various customized EOD robots to work with things in the Vault long-distance.

(There was an empty shelf that was labelled as “First Wave Nano Virus,” mostly as a point of reference and not because any of the nanites had survived the nuke John had dropped over the City. Or any of the  _ other _ nukes they’d detonated within EMP range. Even though it didn’t kill anyone with the gene, Rodney still ranked it as  _ Might As Well Die _ on the  _ Oh Shit _ scale of what they’d encountered to date. As far as John knew, the number of things that beat the nano virus could still be counted on one hand.)

But the existence of the Vault and a collection of guaranteed deadly and mostly uncontrollable objects, experiments, and strange entities was something the Command Staff and the scientists responsible for it were keeping close to their chests. For somewhere it was understood that everyone knew everything that happened, the Vault and what  _ exactly _ it contained remained one of the very few secrets that had survived the years, even survived the residencies of the crew of the Tria’s temporary and the Asurans. It wasn’t a matter of trusting the Expedition; of course they did. But the last thing Elizabeth and John had wanted was someone back at the Mountain knowing about it and being less than discrete when a potential Goa’uld or Trust member (or more recently, a Prior or follower of Origin) might be in hearing range.

Worse, they didn’t want the IOA finding out about it and demanding the entire thing be shipped to Earth immediately. At least in Pegasus if something went wrong, it was only a couple hundred people who would suffer, not the thousands or millions. And they couldn’t pretend something  _ wouldn’t _ go wrong. The IOA themselves would spend the rest of the century arguing over which country got to grab what item from the Vault and, even assuming there was no underhanded dealings or stealing or hiring thugs to “acquire” the items and/or relevant scientists to study them, they’d be so focused on what they could use these things for or being horrified at what they could be used for that the diplomats would never get any other work done.

Or so Elizabeth had reassured them, when she’d explained why she was behind this particular decision. The results of their research? Of course, send it on. The details behind it? Not so much.

On the other hand, calling the things in the Vault unstable meant they could requisition EOD robots for research while having a perfect excuse to never send anything in the Vault dirtside.

Carter still wasn’t clear on all the details--intentionally so, as much as John and Lorne would have liked to inform her immediately. But she knew enough and was starting to guess the rest. John had to hand it to her; she was smart, of course, but they’d been keeping this secret for more than three years now, since just after the nano virus incident. Her deductive and inductive skills were nothing to scoff at.

“Apologies, ma’am, but the EOD robot wasn’t anywhere near the Vault. Or any of the labs, for that matter. Doctor Kasslemaen was working on it in the hangar on the east pier. All of the injuries that resulted from this explosion was  _ only _ because of the explosion.” Lorne pulled up the relevant report on his laptop, handed it over to Carter. John made a mental note to actually read it, later. “And while it’s the worst incident yet, it’s not the only one.

“On the other hand, David has figured out a way to help Pegasus Switzerland and their crops. Which is great, because Doctors Simpson and Kusanagi have taken the rest of the samples and are working on growing crystals.”

Carter sighed, rubbing her head. “Shouldn’t I be getting this report from Doctor Zelenka?”

Lorne nodded amiably. “We agreed that I could inform you of all pertinent information just as well as Radek, and that his time was better suited to coming up with a set of rules regarding crystal implementation.”

Carter huffed a laugh. “I don’t know whether to be insulted that the current CSO feels like he can brush me off, or impressed at his delegation skills.”

“He  _ does _ spend most of his day working with Doctor McKay,” Lorne offered.

“Fair enough.”

In both Rodney  _ and _ Radek’s defence, they did generally follow a pattern of Crisis Mitigation  _ then _ Inform The Superior(s), so that at least they could be reasonably sure nothing would explode while they were in a meeting. John didn’t bother pointing that out.

Instead he asked, “So we’re out of soil then? Doc Parrish must be devastated.”

“Not quite,” Lorne laughed. “We’re out, yes, but he’s submitted a request for AR-3 to go back to Pegasus Switzerland so he can help them out and collect more samples in the process. And… also to offer them some of our crops and trade items until they get their fields fertile again, if only so he can collect more soil when needed.”

Carter thought about that, looked between John and Lorne, looked down at the laptop… and sighed. Again. “I don’t much of a choice but to approve that, do I?”

“Well, you  _ could _ ignore the food delivery,” John jokingly mused, “But that might not sit well with the people Botany wants to steal all their fields from.”

“We’ve run the numbers, and between what we grow in hydroponics, what we trade for, and what we can get delivered now with the ‘Gate Bridge, we should have enough to send to Pegasus Switzerland,” Lorne confirmed. “The exact amounts will need to be agreed upon, but it is possible.”

“...alright,” she decided after another minute of thought. “Get me those reports and the requests and recommendations, and I’ll see that it’s approved. But  _ only _ if you two conspirators draw up a final report on the subcutaneous transmitters  _ and _ the new identification tags to send out in the next databurst.”

While Lorne managed an impressively impassive reaction, John  _ knew _ his face was making strange expressions. Carter shook her head at both of them, placed the laptop back on Lorne’s desk, and departed.

John slumped back into his chair after an abrupt stand-salute-sit routine that he managed to pull off with as much decorum as Lorne (a new personal record, if he did say so himself). “Any chance of making Zelenka and Keller write this one up?”

“Good try, sir.”

* * *

For all the few days at Umyana had been restful, Teyla still begged off the trip to Pegasus Switzerland to rest. John was happy that she wasn’t fighting to get back in the field every time something came up, was taking the time to take care of herself and her unborn child, but still found himself missing her in the lineup on the ‘Gate room floor, last minute preparations underway.

Parrish was rambling enthusiastically to Lorne and the rest of AR-3, Ronon was quietly looming behind John’s shoulder, and Colonel Carter stood on the second last step of the staircase, watching as weapons were checked, straps were adjusted, supplies counted, and Botany’s glorified four wheeled wheelbarrow loaded with the last few tools, fertilizer, and what looked suspiciously like a defibrillator beside a sprinkler head.

John didn’t see a hose, though, nor a pump, so how they were going to make  _ that _ work he had no idea.

“Ready,” Ronon informed John, taking one step forward to be level with him. John looked over to Lorne, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

When his XO nodded in return, John turned to formally address carter. “Ready to go, ma’am.”

Three hours later found John and Ronon striding back through the ‘Gate, relief lifting their shoulders. It had been  _ hot _ , for one thing; for another, Parrish and Jumin had hit it off the moment that Parrish started into a suspiciously technical conversation with Jumin’s son and daughter and son-in-law about crops and rotations and other things that John  _ definitely _ didn’t understand. That had left him, Ronon, and the rest of AR-3 sitting in the shade looking out at the fields, Jumin’s wife, Etilu, sitting with them and drinking a cool not-quite alcoholic mead.

“I hope you do not mind, Colonel Sheppard,” she’d remarked at about the two hour point once the botanist-and-company had moved into the fields proper, “But I believe my husband will be asking for Doctor Parrish to be visiting much more than you and your… Team.”

John smiled indulgently.  _ Jackpot _ , he thought, patting himself on the back. It hadn’t been the original plan, but seeing how well Parrish--and, to a slightly lesser extent, Lorne and the rest of AR-3 managed to get along with every they’d met--John had been hoping they might be able to switch off who was the designated contact. If only so he didn’t feel quite so much like punching everyone here for how they reacted to Rodney.

“I think we can arrange that, no problem, Lady Etilu,” he agreed, meeting Lorne’s eyes over her head. Lorne, thankfully, looked like he’d been expecting this. “I know that Doctor Parrish is the big draw, of course, but Major Lorne here knows a lot about art and weaving.”

The Major started to make a gesture--aborted it as Etilu turned to face him--and managed, “Mostly painting, ma’am, but my family made sure I know how to make many things.”

Apparently that was the right thing to say: Etilu grinned up at him, patting his forearm gently. “Before we married, I was known as one of the best textile workers among my people.” John frowned slightly; ‘textile worker’ was definitely a translation from the ‘Gate that didn’t quite work out to its original meaning by the clunkiness of it, but by the way she said he’d bet it was something close to a proper title. “And after we married, after my children, I am know as  _ the _ best. I look forward to working with you!”

Lorne nodded back, having caught the mistranslation too but letting it ride.

Yeah, John thought, this will be fine.

Which meant that after another hour he and Ronon were free to head back, having spent a bit of time making sure that AR-3 knew everything they needed to maintain relations.

Carter was up in her office but took a minute to wave them welcome and onto the infirmary. Today there were notably less injured scientists about, but it meant that Kusanagi and Simpson didn’t have any trouble finding John and making a beeline for him.

“What happened?” He asked when they were in hearing distance, “Nothing is wrong with the new sub--”

“That’s fine,” Simpson cut him, slashing her hand through the air. “But we received a databurst via Midway while you were gone.”

Kusanagi nodded quickly. “Doctor McKay is returning to us tomorrow. He began his quarantine one hundred twelve minutes ago.”

“Thirteen, now.”

“One hundred thirteen,” she corrected.

John grinned widely. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ronon do the same; Ronon and McKay weren’t best friends of the  _ spend all our time together _ sort, but they  _ were _ close in a ‘brothers who show affection by gently bullying each other’ way. “That’s great! Have you told Teyla yet?”

“Teyla was in the control room when we received the message,” Kusanagi said.

Simpson pushed her blonde hair behind her ear with a sharp movement, not quite willing to give into the cheer at the news. Then again, Engineering had probably been more relaxed in the last few weeks than they had been since the Expedition first launched. “That’s not the important thing.”

Like Carter a week before,  _ John _ felt like bouncing on his toes. How could she not be some kind of happy that Rodney was returning? “Your Lord and Master is returning and you’re not excited?”

She rolled her eyes but  _ did _ smile. “Well, yes, as aggravating as he can be. But that’s not why we came down here in person.”

We, in person. John looked between them--and realized. Between Umyana, Pegasus Switzerland, getting the subques switched out, Jeanie’s email, and Rodney finally coming home (no matter the epic rant he’d get into, once he realized just  _ what _ had been happening while he’d been with Jeanie), John had somehow managed to completely forget.

Landry hadn’t said anything about Wallace, yet.

Based on Kusanagi and Simpson’s expressions, maybe he finally had.

* * *

The message was a video file, flagged as  **EXTREMELY IMPORTANT** and sitting at the top of his Inbox. According to the good doctors, Carter had also received a similar message  _ and _ had already gone through it by the time John and Ronon returned, so based on her casual welcome John was fairly certain it wasn’t going to involve him getting trussed up and frogmarched through the ‘Gate immediately for punishment and/or a court martial.

On the other hand, maybe they were sending people with Rodney to do just that and it was so far out of her hands that she didn’t even want to acknowledge him or what was about to happen.

Either way…. There were other emails, he saw, and figured that the SGC was taking advantage of sending people to Midway to get an extra databurst in this week. It’d be so very easy to go through those first, to put off the reprimand.

He clicked on it. Escaping to the City had already been his version of shutting off comms in the middle of a superior’s orders; he couldn’t pull the same trick again.

The email itself was only a few words:

_ Colonel Sheppard,  _

_ Regards. No need to reply. _

_ Walter Harriman, on behalf of Maj. General Landry _

A video file was attached. John grabbed his headphones, plugged them into the datapad, and sank back onto his bed to watch.

_ “Colonel Sheppard,” _ Landry addressed, sitting at the table in the SGC briefing room, his office visible through the star map behind him. But he wasn’t actually sitting at the head of the table--no, that was General O’Neill, dress blues perfect and clean cut and looking like he’d just come from Washington. Maybe he had?

_ “I know this has been delayed, but you took off back to Atlantis before we could complete a full debrief so clearly it wasn’t as much of a priority to you and you’ll forgive the tardiness,” _ and John snorted at the sarcasm so obviously communicated, even through a digital medium and lightyears between.  _ “I was all for letting you stew a while longer, but General O’Neill here thinks it’s time to address the issue.” _

_ “Yesss,” _ O’Neill drawled.  _ “Sheppard--don’t think this is you getting off easy, because the next time we’re in the same galaxy I am going to make you account for every single action you took and thought you had--but we’re mostly sending a video so that the email is larger. Make it really look like you’re getting reamed out _ .

_ “Wallace had some friends with the IOA who wanted to know the details, so you can thank Mitchell and someone at the NID who apparently thinks of you as a friend for dealing with that shit storm.” _

_ “Jack!” _

_ “Hank.” _

_ “The IOA’s investigation has finished and they’ve found no wrong-doing on your part, although they do want far more thorough reports in the future about the exact strength of a Wraith when they’re desperate to feed.” _

John was swamped by a wave of relief. Strength of a Wraith needing to feed? Oh, that was a good one. He made a note--an actual note, pulled up the notepad feature on the datapad that he rarely used and everything--to order something really,  _ really _ good for Mitchell. And whoever was his friend in the NID. He had friends in the NID? Maybe some old SpecOps or Air Force buddy that wound up there. Either way, they deserved something. Something excellent. What was the best bottle of wine? But Mitchell wasn’t much of a wine drinker. Maybe whiskey….

O’Neill leaned forward to interject,  _ “And No. More. Wraith. Ever. On Earth. Got that? I don’t care if it’s your pet, your best friend, your battle brother, your whatever. That’s the deal, here. The space vampires stay in Pegasus, and we’ll keep the snakes and wanna-be gods here. Sound good? Good.” _

Landry frowned at him.  _ “Jack, that’s not--” _

_ “It’s what Sheppard and his lunatics out there can actually manage. If the IOA think that any of their other demands are actually possible to manage--” _

_ “Some of them are--” _

_ “Not without wasting resources that we really don’t have. So either they pony up and we’ll play ball, or they deal with it. Sheppard! Look what you made me do. I just used a  _ cliche _. This is a horrible day.” _ O’Neill gestured to his head with a brisk wave of his hand. John fought not to smirk.  _ “Next thing you know, I’ll be ending sentences with a preposition.” _

“Can’t have that,” John muttered to himself, still surfing on the sudden lightness in his chest. No more playing nice with Jumin, Rodney coming home, practically getting a bye from the Generals….

_ “That being said,” _ Landry grumbled,  _ “This is to never happen again. I don’t care what you have to do to prevent it, I don’t care if there’s a Wraith involved or not. Wallace wasn’t a friend but I was one of his contacts when we were first arranging for DMT to make the subcutaneous transmitters, and I knew him. I’ve thanked your people for trying to help him and his daughter. And I’ve apologized for what Doctor McKay and Mrs. Miller went through. But he was an asset, and one who was trying to do right by his daughter. What would  _ you _ do for your family, Colonel? For your team? _

_ “If anything like this ever happens again, you’ll be out of here faster than you can blink, and any co-conspirators with you. In the meantime, this is your last chance. Don’t mess it up.” _

Landry stood up and walked into his office. O’Neill watched him for a minute before turning back to the camera.  _ “You hear that, Sheppard? Good. I’m not going to repeat it, but know that if he hadn’t said it first, I would. _

_ “Now, Colonel Carter has forwarded to me some of your concerns, and we’re taking them under advisement. There’s evidence of a leak beyond DMT that we’re looking into. If you picked up anything else from Sheppard Senior’s tutelage, prep a report. Or send me point form notes. Actually, point form is better. Short and sweet. Any tracks or trails or ways around oversight you know that companies might use, anything at all. _

_ “If you don’t already know, McKay is being returned to you in one piece--although he didn’t make it easy, that was the first time I’ve even seen Doctor Lee pissed off--and should be in quarantine at Midway as you watch this. He’s still an ass, but he’s mellowed since he’s been out there in the great wide… yonder,” _ which O’Neill indicated by jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the star map,  _ “So whatever you’re doing, keep it up. _

_ “Now, since we’re sending this in the middle of week and Hank doesn’t feel like being sociable, here’s a quick heads up on the rotations for the Marines that the IOA and Pentagon have been arranging….” _

John paused the video, leaned back into his pillow, and took a deep breath. Held it. Let it out. Almost meditation, he thought.  _ Sitting at the top of a ferris wheel _ . He’d be skating on thin ice for a while to come, but that was for future John. Right here, right now--or, in slightly less than twenty four hours--everyone would be where they should be, safe and sound and  _ home _ , and there was nothing sweeter than that.

A knock on the door. John opened his eyes to a notably darker room, the drapes still open but now showing the rising moon sitting low on the sea instead of bright mid-afternoon. How long had he been asleep?

Another knock. “Sir?” Came Lorne’s voice, slightly muffled. “I know you’re in there.”

John levered himself into a sitting position, glancing down at the datapad. The screen came to life with the movement, still showing where the video had been paused and O’Neill was about to talk logistics. He looked back up at the door, at Lorne still standing on the other side. And grinned.

Maybe there was one thing sweeter, he mused, and headed for the door.

“Lorne, good, just the person I wanted to see. General O’Neill has some things to say about our troop rotations….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Bayek Glaiati is 100% an OC whose first name was definitely not decided upon only a week ago when I was replaying AC Origins. Definitely not.
> 
> Also Gail (as I'm calling her) Simpson appears at least twice, from what I remember: 38 minutes where she's going toe-to-toe with Kavanaugh and again at the beginning of Miller's Crossing. It might not be the same actress or even intended to be the same character, but what I'm taking from this is that it is the same person and she's managed to stick it out long enough in Engineering and Engineering-adjacent Science fields to have proven herself sufficiently capable by Rodney's standards to be largely left alone, and probably have developed a bit of a fondly belligerent attitude towards McKay. I like her and Miko because Miko needs someone to help her get over her hero-worship of McKay.


End file.
